Nevermore
by Molly1
Summary: Sarah retreats to England, trying to escape her past. But unfortunately her past is there to greet her. All songs courtesy of the phenomenal Queen!
1. A New Beginning

Nevermore  
  
  
Chapter One: A New Beginning  
  
At the beginning there was nothing, save a series of frightened whispers, drifting past her ears as she listened. The whispers, although entirely terrifying in their ethereal quality, seemed to almost bring tears to her shimmering hazel eyes, as their quiet secrets tumbled about in half-words, only barely understandable.  
  
As she listened, the words broke away slowly as if riding the faint breeze and drifting into the past. To cover the overwhelming silence that suddenly was there to meet the shivering woman, a gentle series of sobs erupted only a scant distance away. They came from the depths of some being, someone who had experienced such eternal sadness that their heart had completely split into two and all that was left was the urge to end this painful existence.  
  
The sounds brought back painful memories, that leapt from the further recesses of her mind. To remember those harmful times, nights that meant only never-ending dreams that eventually had prevented her from any semblance of sleep, brought only pain. Sarah had seen his eyes everywhere during that period of her life. She had witnessed the mismatched colors shining through to her from her own mirror, in her bathroom, and even in a reflection she might catch out of the corner of her eyes in some highly polished surface. There had even been the slightest crystalline glint of the cold sapphire ice, and flicking chestnut of his gaze hidden in the razor she had held in one trembling hand. Only then the vision was drawn away by the crimson flow, that led her slowly into sweet oblivion. That had been her dance with death, where she felt cold skeletal hands brush her cheeks, as Sarah had only wished 'he' would have done ages ago.   
  
Sarah could remember this all, her years that were forever lost in the black depths of a hidden past. She would never dwell on that time, for it was just as well left where no one could touch it, and bring it into the view of all who dared to enter the turmoil of her life. Sarah covered it well, with smiles and laughter, all false, but convincing nonetheless. After all, she did pride herself on her acting.  
  
The crying broke through her train of thoughts, and at last dispelled her memories. This was no time to think of her pain and hardship. For, at that moment, she had no idea of her whereabouts. She knew only that someone, or something, was still crying, and the darkness that surrounded her had now begun to take on a shade of solemn gray tones.   
  
Yet, it was still so utterly lonesome. Just the faint cries, and now the trickles of golden sunshine that broke through the overcast sky, was all that Sarah was allowed to experience. Nothing else came, and so she sat down on the strange, sand-like surface that had since then been nothing more but hard, darkness. The land she now dwelled in was slowly beginning to exist, to step forth from the nothingness that previously had overcome it.  
  
It was just as well that something break the darkness, so that she might take her mind off of the crying spirit, that now appeared to be drawing nearer, though there was nothing to be seen. Sarah ran a trembling hand through the sifting sand, and allowed it to drift from between her slender fingers as it returned to its rightful place, along with its brethren.  
  
Her dark hair caught the breeze, and another sensation rose to meet her. A faint scent of salt, of brine, of all the things that are attributed to the ocean on a cool morning, drifted past. That was where she sat, near the ocean, upon the golden sandy shores of a beach. However, her only companion was a sobbing girl, who, judging only by the sound of the cries, seemed to be not much older than Sarah herself. She would guess the woman was in her early twenties, if not younger.  
  
The gentle morning sun, illuminating the sand into a faintest orange hue, at long last caught the water in its light. The rolling water, as it crashed against the shore, unrelenting in its eternal duties, shimmered as if thousands of crystals rode the every wave. It was all so beautiful and fresh, clean and new. Had Sarah been there entirely alone, and rid of the fretful crying that even now drifted over the pounding sound of the waves hitting against the sand and drifting back to sea, she would have felt overwhelmed with a sensation of rebirth, and happiness.  
  
Even the chill in the air was a welcomed experience. Sarah wrapped her arms around her shivering body and tried to keep some warmth from escaping. She rose to her feet, in hopes that some movement might prove to push away the cold morning air that fought beneath her light sweater. Perhaps, walking would put the crying at a further distance, for even then it continued, non-stopping and becoming rather annoying as well.  
  
Sarah stopped abruptly as a sight fell before her eyes. Resting just ahead of her, was a tall rocky outcropping, black and viscous in its brutal appearance. It simply did not belong on this lovely, untouched beach, that was only warm golden highlighted sand as far as the eye could see. However, there it stood, reaching far into the sky, and glistening with sprays of water, produced as countless surges of waves attacked the intruder, trying in vain to drive it away. The massive black cliff, appeared ancient, as if it had inhabited this beach since the dawn of time.  
  
The rock itself was shocking alone, yet Sarah's gaze had not dwelled upon it for long. Instead she had noticed something else, another stranger in this serene beach that she had believed herself to be alone upon, save the crying that came from nowhere and everywhere. She could still hear it in the back of her mind, though her attention was entirely focused elsewhere.  
  
Sitting upon the very peak of the mighty stone structure, was a figure clothed entirely in white, as if a ghost himself. His wispy blonde hair trailed in the wind, which was obviously more powerful at such a great height. Sarah saw him, and was instantly driven back, almost faint at the sight. She had left this all behind, had started anew, and now here was her past, back again to haunt her, and perhaps truly drive her insane this time around.  
  
Jareth, however, did not seem to have noticed the woman, the single one who had defeated his massive labyrinth and himself in one fell swoop. Instead he looked out into the ocean, seeming to even gaze past it, and into a distance that was immeasurable. Even from her place upon the ground, far away from him, Sarah could sense a certain change in the Goblin King, an air of grief that had struck him so entirely that he himself did not know how to handle it.  
  
Then, as if Jareth had known the entire time that Sarah would be there, on this beach, watching him, he turned to look down at her. His eyes shone, and still she felt drawn to them, to him. It felt, almost, that this was what was meant to be. Fate, perhaps, had worked in some strange way to bring the two together once again.   
  
For the briefest time Sarah experienced the strange childish giddiness rise within her soul. When he first had happened into her room, cloaked in midnight shades of darkest blues, and emanating an air of utter power that terrified her and excited her all at the same instant, she had felt this attraction. Still she knew it was there, and tried in desperation to force the emotion aside, reminding herself of the Hell she had experienced due to his brutal ways, and his damn suave manners. His image was forever implanted on her mind, and so had nearly driven her mad.  
  
At that moment, when their eyes first met, and she felt all reasonable, and rationale thinking flit away, she knew of nothing to tell him. Sarah very well could have informed this man of all the trouble his presence in her life had caused. Nothing came, and she could only look at him, feeling her heartbeat race at a truly unnatural pace. The only thing to break the strange spell was the sobbing in the distance. Suddenly a question rose in her mouth and she rushed to break the overwhelming silence that surrounded the two of them.  
  
"Do you hear her?" Sarah asked, not truly able to decide why she had inquired about the sobbing girl.  
  
Jareth allowed his eyes to stray from Sarah's as he listened to the mysterious woman still mournful for some unknown reason. His face was set, emotionless, as it had always been when Sarah had seen him. However, Jareth had, for only a few moments, been normal, been nearly human as he gazed into the ocean. Yet, when his eyes met with hers once again, there was no feeling, there was only the king who stole babies away and forced hardships upon the innocent and naive.  
  
He allowed a sly grin to cross his features and he casually produced a perfect crystal, to rest in the palm of his hand, cloaked in a shimmering white glove. Sarah bit her lip, trying in desperation to rid herself of this dream, and this Goblin King. However, he obviously would not allow the nightmare to end yet.   
  
"Why does she cry?" Sarah asked, her voice more urgent then she had wanted it to be.  
  
Jareth gazed into the crystal for a short time, and then looked back at the woman down on the shore. His smile remained on his face, and his eyes continued to dance with otherworldly and magical lights and illuminations. For a scant second an answer almost formed in his eyes, as if a flash of lightening played across his darkened pupils, but that was as close to the truth that Sarah was allowed to get.  
  
"Ask her, dear Sarah," Jareth stated with a ruthless laugh, and then tossed the crystal into the air.  
  
Sarah followed the path that the magical orb took with her slightly dazed eyes. However, it only continued upwards, into the clouded sky overhead, as if the crystal had actually sprouted wings in order to fly away from this beach.  
  
"Miss....," the voice came from all around her, and instantly Sarah felt the fragile, sleep-woven existence of the beach begin to break away.  
  
Sarah startled awake and grasped the arm rests firmly in her slender hands. Her breath caught in her throat, and she struggled against the strange, almost choking grip that had found its way around her neck. She took in her surrounding with one rushed glance, and allowed several deep breaths to calm her frazzled nerves.  
  
She was once again in the cramped coach seat in the plane, on her way to her new life. Sarah felt a tentative hand touch her shoulder and she immediately spun around to look, wide-eyed at the young stewardess who smiled nervously at the passenger. Sarah could feel her cheeks redden in embarrassment, at the scene that she had obviously put on for the rest of the rather annoyed passengers. In fact, the man who sat next to her, was already mumbling something about 'his luck.'  
  
"We are about to start our descent and the seatbelt sign has been lit. Miss, are you feeling well?" the stewardess questioned, her worry obvious in the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes.  
  
Sarah nodded abruptly and then allowed a faint, forced smile to cover her paled lips. With a jerking movement, which only succeeded in striking the annoyed man next to her, Sarah fastened her seatbelt and then glanced back at the young woman. She waited until the flight attendant had nodded a few more times and continued down the aisle to check on other dozing people, only then did she turn her attention to the scenery outside, through the rather dingy window.  
  
The entire experience of flying was something Sarah could have done without. The thought of being thousands of feet, above the security of the ground in a large metal object, nearly made her nauseous. However, the opportunity that had been presented to her just a few short weeks earlier had been something that she simply could not pass up. Plane or not, Sarah had been determined to make the long trip to England.  
  
Surely it had been the only thing her true birth mother had ever done for her. Her mother had called and mentioned, rather downsizing the chance as she spoke, that she happened to know someone in England that was looking for an aspiring young actress, and of course Sarah would be perfect. After everything Sarah had been handling, the sudden ray of light had been enough to lift her back into high spirits, and rid herself of the final bit of depression that was left after the horrendous year spent in the 'home.'  
  
"Yeah, home," Sarah thought bitterly as she readjusted herself in the uncomfortable airline seat. If only her mother had offered a bit more money to travel, then perhaps she could have done so without all these awful muscle cramps.  
  
Sarah had been labeled suicidal, though the only time she had actually attempted had frightened her enough to entirely push aside the thought of ever taking her own life. Just the sight of the pools of bright blood, slipping down the white porcelain sink, and finally dripping to the cool linoleum floor, had frightened her to the point of hysterics. If she had not suddenly become so horrified, and had not screamed with such intensity, then perhaps Sarah would have been nothing more than a name on a new headstone in the midst of hundreds more. However, she had been saved, and then had been quickly placed into an institution, so as to assess her state of mind.  
  
Sarah pushed the thoughts of the horrid place away. She did not want to dwell on all that had gone wrong in her life at that time. There was so much waiting for her in the future. She was, after all, only twenty-three. Sarah reassured herself with a brisk nod and then smiled as she continued to watch the ground slowly draw nearer, and her fear of the flight began to dissipate.  
  
It would not be long until she would be safely back on solid ground, and in her new life. Things were finally looking up.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Sarah lurched forward as a rude teenager behind her pushed to get out quicker than everyone else. She very nearly turned and told him off, but decided against it. She did not need to start everything on the wrong foot. There was always sure to be a certain individual that would be tactless, and uncivil. She ignored the shoving and instead chose to walk ever so slowly towards the exit from the plane.   
  
However, the moment the fresh air reached her, and the scenery showed itself, Sarah forgot all about the unmannerly young man behind her. England had never looked so amazing, even though she had only set eyes on the airport, and a vague view of a few lonesome tree tops peaking over the buildings. Still, just finally being there was enough.  
  
Everything had the air of change, of difference, of renewal where she could finally place her less than favorable past behind herself. That was where it belonged, out of mind and away from the prying eyes of those who supposedly only wanted to help her. She took one confident step out of the plane, and onto the chipped metal loading ramp that had been brought directly beside the plane so that passengers could be free of the restricting metal beast.  
  
This new beginning was her chance to prove to both her doubting father and stepmother that had attempted in vain to convince her not to take this trip due to her rocky past, that it was for the best. With a wonderful breath of fresh, slightly damp evening air, she proceeded the rest of the way down the creaking ramp, and onward into her future, into a time that seemed only bright as she waited with anticipation.   
  
Sarah paused at the bottom of the steep stairs, feet firmly planted on the solid concrete, and expectations flying straight into the highest realms of the atmosphere. Of course, she had yet to even speak to the man who had inquired about this new, unknown actress (without any real experience), and the thoughts of fame and fortune were currently only hopeful dreams. However, that was what she was, and had always been, a dreamer. It would not seem right to even consider the horrid possibility that this 'big break' would become nothing more than another in the line of countless rejections, and numerable false hopes.   
  
"Ah, the life of an aspiring actress!" Sarah thought bitterly, though with a certain hint of sarcasm.  
  
However, those considerations where quickly thrown aside from her overjoyed mind. She did not have time to dwell on the 'what ifs.' Her spirits were in rare high form, far different from the depressing, and life-threatening times she had experienced shortly after dropping out of her Senior year in the pathetic institution know to many as 'highschool.' Sarah very nearly gagged at the thought of the place in which she had experienced taunts and so many hours of tears brought on by harsh, brutal words uttered by her peers.  
  
She casually slung her bag to the ground, already tired from the obvious jet lag which would soon be there to greet her. After all, one does not simply travel to an entirely different continent and come out feeling fresh and awake. Sarah was fairly sure that the small amount of slumber that would grace her tired mind and body that night, would be by far insufficient. Nonetheless, that was the way things would go, and she would take it all in stride.  
  
A warm hand fell on the thick cotton coat she had rushed to pull over her shivering shoulders, the instant the stewardess had warned everyone of the extreme fall in temperature, when compared to the lovely weather that had been experienced back in their last stop off. Sarah had already begun to confuse the many places in which she had spent a few fleeting moments of rest, as planes where changed.  
  
"Sarah Williams?" a smooth, dignified man asked, his British accent evident immediately.  
  
Sarah spun around and smiled, placing a slender hand over her fluttering heart. She had not expected to be surprised so. Yet, had she really known what to expect upon arriving at her destination, England? Even the sound of the country brought a tingle to her soul and her body as well. This was her future, this land with such refined tastes, and a royal family as well. It was all like some fairy story.  
  
"Yes, are you the man whom I spoke with yesterday?" Sarah questioned, drawing her hand away from her heart and offering it to the older gentleman.  
  
The word 'gentleman' certainly did describe this stranger to a key. He was tall, refined, slightly grayed and dressed impeccably in a dark navy suit. She could tell that he had been handsome in his younger days, and even now held the regal look of one who could still attract quite a few younger woman. The man nodded slightly as he shook her hand and then bent to take Sarah's bags.  
  
Sarah was quite shocked to see just how well she was treated already. In reality, she had yet to learn of her place, or what she really would be doing, save filling a spot that had suddenly become vacant in some acting troupe of kinds. It didn't really matter what it was, for she would make the best out of anything. Sarah would be happy even if she was just a minor role, that had the briefest speaking part.  
  
"Miss Williams?" the man questioned from the open door of a rather exquisite looking black car.  
  
She bit her lip and hurried, so as not to keep anyone waiting. That, of course, was the furthest thought from her mind. The door closed firmly behind her, and she found herself alone in the back of the car, a tinted glass separating herself from the front seat. Sarah squirmed a bit as her nerves got the better of her, but then calmed, as the car revved to life and began to pull out of the airport, and onwards to...her future.  



	2. An Ethereal Masterpiece

Chapter Two: An Ethereal Masterpiece  
  
The large rambling estate, which was very obviously their destination, appeared  
suddenly from behind thick trees and underbrush. The woods seemed almost afraid to  
come any nearer to the mansion. However, in actuality they had probably been cut down  
so as to leave the house in a clearing. The ground was covered in patchy grass, which  
grew short, and sparingly as far as Sarah could see. Though most of her view was cut off  
by waves of hills.  
  
The house itself was quite monstrous, if not a bit mysterious as well. It was  
surrounded on all sides by an overdone, black iron fence. Surely this was the impenetrable  
fortress, for each thick metal bar was tipped in a fine spear head, as if warning all who  
dared consider scaling the gates. However, no matter how uninviting the protective  
barrier was, the mansion as a whole was lovely in its old-world style.  
  
Sarah's eyes took in the quaint brick work, and the tracing green ivy that ran over  
the entire front of the house. It spoke of elegance to an extreme. She could picture tea  
time, being a very regular occurrence in a place such as this. As she watched, the chimney  
still spewed forth a rather large amount of snaking gray smoke into the still overcast sky.   
The front door was much larger than it should have been, reaching near to twelve feet  
from base to top, and had been carved from the most lush piece of rich dark wood she had  
ever seen.  
  
Surrounding the estate on all sides was a garden of mass proportions. This was  
where the ivy had originated, and from whence it had escaped to take the house as its  
prisoner. Still, there was no overgrown quality to the lovely gardens, instead they were  
quite orderly and well-cared for. Each plant was meticulously groomed and trimmed to  
perfection, so that each solitary bloom stood out as a masterpiece to be observed and  
admired.   
  
A cobbled driveway led up to the house, and ended before a garage that, by  
obvious proportions, was as large as Sarah's house. Directly before the wooden doors of  
the garage, sat an exquisite black carriage, making the entire scene seem like something  
from the distant past. She could nearly imagine seeing young women, done up in ornate  
ballgowns, sighing over some passing gentlemen as they entertained friends in one of their  
many lavish parties. Sarah could not hold in the sigh that the romantic atmosphere  
brought to her smiling lips.  
  
It was like a dream come true, to be there at long last. This was where she had  
always belonged, to live in a land that was more fairy tale than true. She rested her chin in  
her hands and continued to gaze at the house as it drew nearer and nearer. All the while  
she took the time to practice her entrance, and exactly what she would say to the man who  
had given her all this by simply accepting her as an actress. Sarah was quite worried that  
she would be speechless when finally able to confront him.  
  
The car pulled to a gradual stop just outside the gates, giving Sarah even more  
time to worry about what they would think of her. She had only to look at the house, and  
the carriage, and everything else that made this place so very regal, to understand that she  
really did not fit in at all. Actually the closest she had every come to nobility, was, in fact,  
defeating the arrogant Goblin King.   
  
"Like that counted for much," Sarah whispered to herself, already hating the way  
her voice was shaking in anticipation and fear.  
  
The tinted window, that had since then cut her off from any conversation with the  
driver, the same man who had met her at the airport, suddenly came to life and lowered  
halfway down. Sarah nearly jumped in shock at the sudden movement, but quickly  
composed herself and peered over the darkened glass in attempts to hear what the driver  
wanted to tell her.  
  
"Here we are, Miss, Fontridge Manor," the driver said, obviously suspecting that  
Sarah had slept the whole way, instead of gazing at the passing scenery.  
  
She raised herself up higher still, so as to actually see the older man that now only  
slightly turned enough to utter those few words to her. He was currently waiting for the  
enormous gate, ordained with intricate spiraling black metal designs that formed the  
initials of the estate: F and M, to open. She cleared her throat, perhaps to get the driver's  
attention, but he made no move indicating that he had heard her at all.  
  
"Thank you," Sarah stated, although her discouragement was evident in her voice.  
  
The man nodded slightly, but never once turned or spoke another word. Instead,  
he cut any other conversation off rapidly by raising the window back to its rightful place.   
Sarah was alone again, and slumped back into the leather seat. It had been a comfortable  
way to travel, however the company was not the best. She could only hope that there  
would be more talkative people waiting to meet her in the estate. Sarah was determined  
to make everything work.  
  
A faint creaking sound broke through the general silence that had encompassed the  
car the entire ride to Fontridge Manor. Sarah straightened up and watched as the gate  
swung open, seemingly of its own accord. It struck her in a way that she wished it had  
not. However, immediately a picture of a large metal door, gigantic even when compared  
to the size of some in this estate, closing by itself, came to mind. She was helpless to  
recall her time spent in the Labyrinth again, even though it had been the furthest thought  
from her mind.  
  
The car immediately started up again, and bumped rather uncomfortably over the  
cobbled driveway. The trip had been utterly smooth as glass until that point, but the bit of  
annoyance didn't matter. She was at her new home, and could at last be rid of the  
choking blanket of silence that still covered the interior of the car in its tightening grips.  
  
For the final time, the car pulled to a stop. Only this time around the engine was  
abruptly cut off, and Sarah heard the driver quickly make his way out. The next instant  
her own door swung open, revealing the well-groomed man, still silent. She found herself  
less interested in him after the 'exciting' talks they had shared.  
  
Yet, she still smiled and allowed him to help her from the car, though Sarah was  
quite capable of completing the easy task of her own accord. She didn't mind being  
treated so well, for she had never been spoiled since then, and had decided that this would  
probably be her only chance at the good life.   
  
"Thank you once again, for the enjoyable ride," she silently hoped that the trace of  
sarcasm had not been as evident as it had sounded to herself.  
  
If the driver had noticed anything, he properly ignored it all and continued with his  
required duties. With a bit of a rush he securely closed Sarah's door once she had left the  
car and went to retrieve her luggage. He was well-trained, that much had to be said for  
the silent gentleman. She really wanted to tell him not to be so hasty, for she did not mind  
in the least how quickly or slowly he brought her bags back.  
  
Nonetheless, the driver hurried back to her and then motioned towards the front of  
the house, perhaps as a way to hurry Sarah along. She was nearly content to marvel over  
the exterior of the mansion, and not take the final steps that would mean everything for  
her future. There was far too much stress suddenly resting on her shoulders.  
  
With a gulp she strode over to the large, unnerving door and brought a shaking  
hand up to the lovely golden knocker that rested directly at eye level. It had been crafted  
into a lion's head, holding the large polished ring firmly in its open mouth, fangs keeping it  
in place.  
  
"Had to be a knocker," she muttered under her breath as another image from the  
labyrinth flashed into her overactive mind.  
  
Sarah shook the thought aside and firmly knocked the ring against the door several  
times. The sound echoed through the vast mansion, making the entire experience more  
eerie than it ought to have been. She quickly dropped the ring and clasped her hands  
together. Sarah stepped away from the door, and near to the driver, who still held her  
bags in his hands.  
  
There was no sound to answer the door, and Sarah very nearly allowed herself to  
believe that it was possible for no one to be home in such an expansive place. She made  
as to try the knocker once more, in hopes that it would be heard this time around. She  
didn't really know how someone, perhaps on the other side of the mansion, could hear  
such an insignificant and tiny sound. Nonetheless, the next moment, just as her doubt had  
reached an overwhelming level, the door suddenly swung open to reveal a woman, dressed  
in a casual gray uniform.  
  
Sarah swallowed deeply and attempted to introduce herself to the lady. However,  
all she managed to do was raise her still-shaking hand to waist level before rough hands  
grasped her arm to lead, or rather haul her through the large door. She tumbled in, nearly  
losing her balance twice as her feet caught on a certain rug conveniently placed before the  
door.  
  
"You'd be the new girl, I assume," the woman replied as she set Sarah walking  
into the room that laid directly ahead.  
  
"Yes, ye...," her voice broke off into a series of awe-struck gasps.  
  
Sarah gazed at the room in which she now stood , and could have simply fainted  
dead away. The glorious walls were of supple, rich wood, that reached some twenty feet  
overhead. They were ordained with tapestries of such ornate and intricate detailed work,  
that Sarah found herself dizzy as she tried to look at the lovely things. Built into the far  
wall was a fireplace, nearly large enough to fit a full-size person in its depths, and  
surrounding it was the most amazing black marble, polished to perfection, as everything  
seemed to be. Even the furniture, crafted from fine velvets and silks and done so in royal  
maroon and navy colors, seemed to belong to another time era entirely. She could have  
walked back in time the moment she had stepped through the door, just by looking at the  
exquisite antiques and fine craftsmanship.  
  
Sarah spun around to look at the gruff woman, obviously a maid if her uniform  
told anything about her occupation. Not even the scowl she wore on her face could  
dampen Sarah's elated mood. She was in her dream, living out a fairy story that she  
thought would never come true, at least not before she had been long dead and gone.   
After all, she had believed herself to be dead only a few short years earlier.  
  
"If you mind, Miss," the maid responded and gestured down one of the several  
hallways that joined up at this central point.   
  
Sarah sobered up rather quickly, but did not allow her happiness to melt away.   
She could act serious even while another part of her wished to be let free, to simply  
explore this massive house, that could serve for hours and hours of entertainment. Even  
as she walked down the dimly lit corridor, Sarah snatched glances at other passages that  
were found in this amazing mansion.   
  
"It's so amazing!" Sarah uttered still in shock from all that she had seen, and was  
to witness in the time to come.  
  
The woman guided Sarah ever onward, down one twist and around another turn.   
It came to feel so very long, that Sarah believed that they had circled the entire mansion at  
least once, and perhaps even twice. However, she had yet to see anything that was even  
remotely familiar. As these thoughts passed through her vivid mind, a shimmering light  
suddenly pooled around her, and Sarah lifted her eyes to the new scenery.  
  
They had paused in a large circular outlet, in which the hallway had ended. The  
ceiling itself was no longer as strikingly high, as it had been in the front room. However,  
it still stretched some ten or fifteen feet overhead. Instead of the wood that had since then  
been the main substance of which the walls were made, stone now formed this room.   
Forged into the very walls were lovely carvings, some as large as the Sarah herself, while  
others no bigger than her hand. They depicted every fantasy creature about which Sarah  
had ever managed to read. Each one caught the light, streaming from a single white bulb  
in the center of the ceiling, and almost came to life. Sarah could very nearly imagine each  
and every one breaking through from the rock, to become real in their world.  
  
However, despite the amazing designs in the walls, there was something else that  
overshadowed even the most intricate carving. A massive statue took over the majority of  
the space, carved from fine, bone-white material, though Sarah could not entirely tell what  
the substance was at her vantage point. It was a man, tall and exceptionally handsome in  
every aspect of his figure. In his hand was a sword, that was held high overhead, as if  
ready to claim some villain's life. His hair drifted off, in some ever present gust of air, that  
had caught the model just so as the sculptor worked in this ethereal medium. It flowed  
around his head, wild and untamed, the direct opposite when compared to the  
well-groomed uniform that adorned the statue's body.   
  
Sarah ignored the gentle, yet persistent tugs on her sleeve. She found herself  
unable to go on, at least not until she had seen this man's face. A statue of such  
importance, that it received an entire room to itself, and also was granted with a single  
white spotlight, would certainly be worth a moment of precious time. It seemed that it  
would nearly be a sin to leave such a work of art without taking in all of its beauty.  
  
"It's so fantastic," Sarah whispered, feeling that to speak any louder would  
definitely be a sacrilege.  
  
The maid sighed behind her, and muttered some words under her breath. Sarah  
heard nothing, for her entire attention rested solely on this figure, which had somehow  
struck her as being slightly familiar. It was strange that the feelings of deja-vu should  
suddenly leap atop her at this time, in a place she certainly had never been, and had only  
dreamed of visiting. Still, she could not shake the feeling that this had happened before,  
and perhaps that she had seen all of this at another time.  
  
She shivered despite the strange warmth that surrounded the statue. As she drew  
nearer, she could almost feel the temperature change to that of sunny, spring weather.   
Sarah wrapped her arms around herself and continued on, taking each step with a certain  
anxiety that felt as if it might burst at any time.  
  
"Please, we haven't got all day," the woman demanded, and reached to grab hold  
of Sarah once again.  
  
Sarah easily avoided the half-hearted attempt to rush her along and scowled at the  
maid. After all, she was the guest here, and deserved to be treated politely. Everyone  
seemed to be in a rush. She turned back to the statue and took the final few steps to stand  
directly before it.  
  
Her breath caught in her throat, and Sarah felt her vision blur momentarily. She  
took several shaking steps away from the image that had suddenly appeared before her.   
Her very world threatened to pull apart at the seams, and leave her alone in blackness as  
consciousness slipped further and further away from her grasping hands.  
  
The sight could not be, but it had existed. It was something that technically just  
should not appear in a mansion, in England, far away from any frightening experiences she  
had had as a young teenager. This was her new start, not a return to the past. Still, Sarah  
could not deny, nor make the face fade away to something that would not be familiar.  
  
It was Jareth. She could not dispute the fact that the Goblin King somehow had a  
statue in this mansion where she would be remaining for quite some time. Fate was cruel,  
and her life suddenly felt as if it had been pulled back into the times of fantasy and a cursed  
leather-bound book.   
  
Sarah looked up once again and saw his eyes, those that she had witnessed so  
many times, gazing right back at her. His face was cold, and set, nearly cruel in the artist's  
depiction. Yet, upon his mouth was the slightest smirk, making one believe that this man  
could have very well been sly, conniving, pretty much everything Jareth was in reality.   
  
Two powerful hands gripped Sarah shoulder's painfully and drew her from her  
dazed state. She looked at the maid with a dumb stupor, that still hung over her entire  
mind. There was no way to explain it, and so she was helpless to mentally stutter in  
uncertainty filled with scores of questions. Surely she seemed mad, and that was evident  
in the way the stern woman stared her dead in the eye and tried to get through the dulled  
look in Sarah's gaze.  
  
"Miss, are you well?" the woman questioned, all the while shaking Sarah to bring  
her back to the real world.  
  
Sarah slowly drew her hand to her head and rubbed it. The best thing she could do  
would be to leave the room entirely, and put as much distance between herself and the  
statue as possible. She could not be near it any longer, in fear that the darker events in her  
past might very well resurface with 'him.' She pushed herself away from the maid and  
stumbled through the door that had been opened and waiting for her.  
  
Sarah pulled the heavy wooden door closed behind herself, forgetting entirely  
about the flustered woman that was left in the circular room along with that haunting  
statue. She instead leaned against the smooth, polished surface of the door and closed her  
burning eyes, trying in vain to hide from horrid anxiety that washed over her in choking  
waves.   
  
"Sarah?" a refined voice questioned from somewhere further in the room she had  
been using as refuge.  
  
Her eyes immediately snapped open in shock. The voice, though she did know  
better, actually had sounded a bit like a certain Goblin King. Perhaps it had been the  
wrong choice to go somewhere, where every last person held the same accent as Jareth.   
Though, there was something about him that was strangely different from the normal  
British sound. Sarah shook the thoughts from her mind and focused on the person who  
had spoken.  
  
Her gaze instantly met with that of a man, extraordinarily debonair and quite  
handsome as well. He had light, almost tawny colored hair, and amazing green eyes that  
shimmered in the lamp light. He seemed like someone who should perhaps always wear a  
suite, yet he was dressed casually, in jeans and a plain hunter sweater.  
  
She forced herself away from the support offered by the sturdy door, and nearer to  
the desk. There was no need to make this stranger believe that she was crazy. Yet, at that  
moment Sarah herself was beginning to doubt her sanity once again.   
  
"Yes, but I'm afraid I don't know who you are," Sarah responded with a warm,  
strained smile.  
  
The man rose from his seat and shook Sarah's hand firmly in his own. He was  
possibly in his early thirties, but still Sarah was helpless to not feel a strange alluring  
attraction to him. She suppressed a sigh, and quickly sat in the chair that was then offered  
to her.  
  
"At last there is a face to put to the name. I was curious as to how Linda's  
daughter would look," the man responded, a bright smile passing over his features as he  
spoke.  
  
Sarah blushed and looked down at her tightly, interlocked hands. She was not  
accustomed to any of this lifestyle. There would be time in the future to grow more  
comfortable, and that was all she could tell herself to boost her courage. After all, she did  
not have time to be shy, considering that all too soon she would be working with quite a  
few strange people, and would have to get used to them quickly.  
  
She raised her eyes, and found them locked with the man's. For just a moment,  
they remained that way, until Sarah averted her gaze to the bookshelf that lined the wall  
directly behind this stranger. Familiar feelings washed over her, those that had not been  
truly felt since her time spent in a land filled with slightly warped fairy tales, and an  
entirely seductive Goblin King.   
  
"Forgive me for being rude, I've forgotten that you still don't know me. I'm Peter  
King, and I sent for you to replace an actress who had suddenly taken quite ill," he  
remarked.  
  
A light dawned in Sarah's shimmering chestnut eyes. She could not have felt more  
dimwitted than she had at that moment. This man had been considered her savior in her  
imagination for several weeks. In fact, the moment she had heard of the opportunity, this  
stranger had transformed into a figure only slightly less amazing than a God. Now she sat  
before him, and was speechless.  
  
"An actress that cannot utter a single word, great," Sarah thought in her flustered  
state.  
  
However, she could not force her frozen vocal chords to obey her commands of  
speech. She was helpless to sit there and gape, in awe and stunned silence, as Peter  
watched this new addition with a sort of scrutinizing worry. Sarah could have very well  
been caught in a whirlpool of images and catches of intelligent conversation that simply  
spun about in her over-active mind, refusing to do anything except taunt her.   
  
With a burst of hope, a single figure broke through the chaos. A perfectly sculpted  
ethereal, white masterpiece, the same that she had seen in the hallway, shone as if a ray of  
guiding light instead of the blight on humanity she had originally taken the statue to be.   
Yet, it certainly did offer a topic of conversation that would break the unnerving silence,  
and perhaps convince Peter that Sarah herself was not entirely crazy, and had not been a  
bad decision.  
  
"I noticed that statue in the hallway," the words burst from her mouth, a bit to  
rushed to sound normal, but at least it had been something. She could work with it from  
there.  
  
At the mention of the artwork, Peter immediately rose to his feet. A strange,  
knowing smile passed over his features as he walked casually towards the still closed door.   
He meant to open it, to perhaps point out certain details in the statue that Sarah had not  
noticed in her horror of revelation, when at last she had seen the true identity of the  
masterpiece. She yearned to scream, to grab him back and prevent the final steps that  
would lead to her inescapable breakdown. However, it was too late.  
  
"It is my pride and joy," Peter declared, and flung the large door aside so that the  
image of perfection crafted into purity made solid, was shown.  
  
Sarah glanced at it, but only for the briefest moment. She did not want to seem  
rude, especially after being the fool to bring up the statue in the first place. If she had  
been thinking correctly then perhaps this entire topic would have remained hidden away by  
the blanket of silence.   
  
Peter was obviously not satisfied with her half-hearted interest. He paused at the  
door and fixed Sarah with his stern gaze. After all, she had shown interest, and now  
seemed only yearning to leave this entire estate as soon as possible. She smiled in  
response to his unspoken questions and rose to gradually force herself back to the damn  
thing.  
  
"No one knows who it is, or from whence it came. I discovered it one day in the  
old ruins, and since then it has remained in the room, surrounded by fantasy. It truly  
appears to be one of the Fae," Peter stated as he ran a hand across the rough base upon  
which it stood.  
  
Sarah gazed at the wild, flowing mane of hair, frozen in one spot for all of eternity.   
It seemed wrong for such a one as Jareth to be inanimate, though she knew very well that  
the Goblin King himself certainly was very active at that moment. He probably would  
have adored the statue, considering his massive ego.   
  
Sarah tried in vain to avoid the statue's gaze, though was unable to stop herself  
from peering upwards and into the regal face. Once again she felt her heart sink, and her  
breath catch short several times. Sarah backed from the masterpiece, for the second time  
that day, in utter and complete horror. This time she was certain that consciousness  
would escape her, and she would simply pass out on the ground, in front of Peter.  
  
However, she had every reason to faint. For the statue had changed, had altered  
severely from its original appearance. Jareth was still the figure, but his face was far more  
youthful, and not hardened by the trials of ruling a kingdom. In fact, instead of the  
taunting grin he had earlier displayed, now he held a seriousness that would only be  
evident in well-brought up youths.  
  
"Sarah!" a voice called.  
  
The next instant there were hands on her shoulders, trying to shake her back to  
reality. It was by far too late to save her from the comforts of darkness, where nothing  
hurts. She would be safe there, far from the knowing gaze of certain fantasy creations that  
continued to haunt her life.   
  
As she drifted away, and felt herself fall into strong arms, a name laid poised on  
her paled lips. It floated forth, and covered her every thought as the nothingness  
destroyed all else, leaving her alone.  
  
"Jareth."  



	3. A Phantom Melody

Chapter Three: A Phantom Melody  
  
A cradle of moonshine surrounded her sleeping body, as she drifted into the realm  
of dreams, where nightmares seemed to attack her more regularly. Sarah gazed about at  
the sky, so very dark and pure, with only the crystalline shards, as if pinpricks in the very  
night, to alter that overwhelming jet black.   
  
The stars themselves seemed innumerable in their immense display. They shone in  
her eyes, opened wide to take in this scene of serenity. She was at peace, after the chaotic  
moments she had spent upon first arriving at her new home. Sarah was able to relax, to  
perhaps drowse in this soft silken existence in which she now dwelled.  
  
The faintest catch of melody rode the mild breeze as it brushed against her face.   
Then it died away, to leave the night breathless, entirely silent, and devoid of the original  
peace Sarah had so loved. She snapped open her wild, chocolate eyes, to see what had  
come and taken away her tranquillity.  
  
There was nothing. Even as she rose to sit, Sarah could see only emerald grass,  
perfectly still. There was only the expanse of the field, and the never-ending sky  
overhead, and herself in this world. Not even a single hill, or so much as a raise in the  
level of the ground could be seen from her vantage point, which certainly was not a very  
good one since the grass very nearly blocked her entire view.  
  
Now the melody again, so sorrowful. The sadness in the song drove into her soul,  
aching with pain of so many losses that she had sustained. Yet, with the harm the tune  
inflicted, the words rose and fell, so sweet, filled with a love she had never known. Sarah  
listened and once again closed her eyes.  
  
The breeze surely had picked up, for her hair drew back as if brushed by  
something. Then it fell, flowing over her shoulders and scented of some divine fragrance  
that she was helpless to name. She could only allow the aroma to cover her senses  
entirely and fill her with unnamed longings, those that were hidden now rose to the surface  
and nearly forced her to cry out in amazement at the power of the emotions.  
  
"There's no living in my life anymore.  
The seas have gone dry and the rain stopped falling," an enchanting voice,  
accented with rich, seductive tones began.  
  
Sarah could feel the singer's breath against her ear, though she still did not speak.   
She could only sit there, and listen as this man serenaded her so sweetly. She knew, she  
could sense already who was by her, without even hearing the voice that still forced  
shivers along her spine.   
  
"Please don't you cry anymore.  
Can't you see?  
Listen to the breeze, whisper to me please  
don't send me on the path of nevermore," he continued as a faint trickle of music  
accompanied the lyrics.  
  
Sarah swayed, feeling so very drained of any energy she had had since then.   
Perhaps the song held some form of enchantment. The thought frightened her enough to  
break the trance that had held her for a short time. Once again Sarah opened her eyes and  
glanced around.  
  
"Jareth?" she whispered, almost hopefully.  
  
There was no response to her call, and even the melody drifted away, riding a new  
breath of air that had swept past her so suddenly. Once again it caught her tresses,  
brushing against her face in the process. The scent of springtime in full bloom, of  
thousands of countryside rides, and raw magic, covered her entirely in that moment.  
  
Above it all, the breeze and the lovely aura of magic, she once again heard the  
gentle sobbing of the same girl that had originally come to her in a dream only earlier that  
day. It seemed a lifetime ago. The crying woman sounded so very far away, and even as  
Sarah believed that the sound would continue just as long as the previous time, it was  
gone, along with the wind and all other wondrous things she had experienced.  
  
"Sarah, why do you call me here?" Jareth's voice plummeted down upon her.  
  
She startled once again and then turned her gaze towards the sky, for that was  
where the voice had seemed to emanate. It was strange, to simply look into the expanse  
of stars and night, and hear a voice that she had believed to be gone from her life. Why  
was the Goblin King suddenly so prevalent in her existence?  
  
"Why must you haunt me so?" she demanded, and then tried in vain to will the  
voice away.  
  
It was no use, and she should have know. Her only hope would be to awaken  
from this never-ending nightmare, and try to convince herself that none of it had been real.   
Of course, that was as impossible as her attempts to control the reappearance of Jareth in  
her life.  
  
Even as she thought that, the dream began to break, and she could vaguely hear a  
concerned voice calling to her from some great distance. The sky faded, and the grass  
dissipated, and all around her was simply dark in preparation for her waking.  
  
"It is I who have been drawn into your dreams, Sarah, and it is you who must  
release me," Jareth's voice came to her as she rested in that black oblivion....  
  
It could have been days, hours, months that she spent in the intense nothingness of  
her unconscious. However, her senses returned, and the faint gray overtones from  
filtering light played across her eyelids as they flickered in her awakening. Sarah snapped  
open her eyes, to suddenly view the crowd of people gazing down at her.  
  
They all smiled, in attempts to hide the worry, and lighten the unnerving  
atmosphere in the large room in which she now found herself. How she had arrived there,  
was one of the many questions that she doubted she would ever ask. However, that really  
did not matter at the moment. Sarah was concerned that this scene would mean disaster  
for her second chance at a normal life.  
  
From the sea of unfamiliar faces, all concerned for someone they did not know,  
appeared a single person Sarah was able to recognize. Peter, the man who had obviously  
brought her to this room following her strange fainting spell, smiled and rubbed the back  
of his neck, unsure of how to continue. Perhaps he was wondering just how to tell Sarah  
that it was better for her to leave.  
  
"How do you feel, dear?" another young woman questioned as she stepped in  
closer to Sarah's side.  
  
The woman was only slightly older than Sarah herself, probably in her mid  
twenties. She had thick red hair, and shimmering green eyes, which certainly did make her  
stand out from the rest. Her face was pleasant, though not entirely beautiful, and was  
covered in a shocking amount of freckles. However, her smile, so very warm and caring,  
allowed Sarah comfort in this rather uncomfortable situation.  
  
"Fine," she muttered slightly and began to rise to a sitting position.  
  
The red-haired woman quickly caught Sarah by her arms, forcing her to remain  
reclined. She abruptly shook her head and then turned to glance back at the rest of the  
crowd, still silent and watching the whole 'show.' It was rude, and obviously Sarah's new  
acquaintance did not approve of it in the least.  
  
She cleared her throat and gestured towards the large door on the other side of the  
massive room. It seemed that everything in the mansion was enormous when compared to  
the typical house. The people turned and left, without so much as word. However, Sarah  
could easily hear mumbled catches of certain gossip as the door returned to its rightful  
place in its frame.   
  
"Well, wasn't the best way to meet everyone, but it'll do. I take it that you're  
Sarah," the woman stated, at last stepping away from Sarah and removing her restraining  
hands.  
  
"Yes... and thanks," Sarah responded, placing a hand to her head.  
  
She still felt detached from reality, as if a part of her mind had remained in the  
dream that she had experienced a brief time earlier. Sarah could only manage a few short  
words, muttered in a strange distant voice, that sounded so different from her own. It felt  
as if she heard everything from far away, and even down a great tunnel where only the soft  
echo reached her awaiting ears.  
  
She finally forced herself to raise up, hoping that that might bring the last bit of her  
normal personality back where it belonged. However, all she succeeded in doing, was  
nearly falling back after the wave of vertigo struck her poor head. Sarah wavered a bit,  
and then steadied herself, as the other woman watched with worry evident in her features.  
  
"You must have had quite a trip. Some rest would do you good," the woman  
replied, standing from her seat with an unusual amount of grace.  
  
The mere thought of sleep frightened Sarah more than that strange statue. She  
would have chosen a dozen other forms of punishment than to be forced to slip off, back  
into the dream world where 'he' had chosen to dwell for the time being. The shock  
brought her back entirely, and knocked the last bit of dizziness away.  
  
"Wait, umm...," Sarah paused, realizing that she had yet to learn this kind person's  
name.  
  
The woman stopped and turned back around, her hands on her hips in a mock  
stern stance. However, the teasing grin that lit her face, and accentuated her lovely eyes,  
made the entire act unbelievable. She seemed like someone who had not been able to  
keep serious for any length of time during her whole life.  
  
"It's Gabrielle..," she stated.  
  
Sarah nodded and then pushed herself off the bed. She was not ready to be babied  
like this. After all, she had taken care of herself many times before, and this would be no  
different. Sarah did not need people to think that she was weak, for that was one thing  
that she had never been, and never would be. One does not make it through an entire  
labyrinth, past goblin guards, and defeat a powerful Goblin King, if one is weak.  
  
She managed but one step, and then nearly toppled over her own shoes, which  
rested just a short distance from the edge of the bed. Sarah swiped a stray piece of hair  
from her face and then gathered the shoes up into her hands, glancing back at her friend in  
the process. She leaned against the nearest wall, and succeeded in pulling the tedious  
things half on.   
  
Sarah managed a smile in response to Gabrielle's worry. She really did seem like a  
mother, what with her kind eyes, and worried nature. However, if Gabrielle had known,  
she probably would have laughed and declared that there was no time for children in her  
life at that point. A family would just have to wait.  
  
"I can't spend anymore time in this room, apart from everyone else. If I am to  
work with all of you, I think that I should meet all the others properly, and not while I'm  
unconscious," Sarah stated as she paused at the door, waiting for Gabrielle to follow.  
  
"Well, if you insist," Gabrielle remarked and then followed Sarah out of the room.  
  
The moment she entered the hallway, Sarah was certain that she would never be  
able to learn the twists and turns of Fontridge. It was nearly as confusing as the labyrinth,  
except lacking certain oubliettes and deadly Cleaners. Still, she felt hopelessly lost, unsure  
of even which way to turn that would bring her closer to...wherever they were headed.  
  
Gabrielle noticed Sarah's uncertainty and plunged ahead, leading onward to the  
theatre, as the rehearsal room was so dubbed. Sarah followed closely behind, straying  
only slightly to admire the many paintings, and tapestries that covered the otherwise bare  
walls.   
  
"What is this mysterious play that no one has told me about?" Sarah asked,  
drawing away from a lovely canvas on which a pale young girl had been painted.  
  
Gabrielle halted at the question and immediately turned to Sarah. She glanced  
about herself, and then placed a slender finger over her pink lips. She obviously wanted  
silence. For once, her face lacked the general mirth that had since then been so usual in  
her features. She then turned and continued down the passage.  
  
"I would be thrown out in the street, should I tell you about it without Peter being  
around. The play is his first...like a baby, his piece de resistance, to put it mildly,"  
Gabrielle responded, still not looking back at Sarah as she spoke.  
  
Sarah sighed, just loud enough to assure herself that Gabrielle had heard. She  
wanted the other woman to know just how stupid the whole secrecy surrounding the play  
was. It was, after all, just an act, nothing truly important. It seemed that Peter was just a  
bit eccentric, if he would react so violently to a little slip such as telling what the play was  
about.   
  
Nonetheless, Peter had been kind enough to take a chance on quite a questionable,  
not to mention inexperienced, young actress such as Sarah. So far she had not proven  
herself worthy of his 'great' play, what with barging into his office and shortly later  
fainting dead away. It would be smart to avoid making any unnecessary waves so soon in  
her stay with the group.  
  
"Well, here we are," Gabrielle exclaimed, with mock enthusiasm as she paused  
before a set of wondrously crafted doors.  
  
They were inlaid with golden leaf designs, that flowed over the entirety of the  
dark, polished wood. The handles of each door also matched the general fantastic quality,  
since they were formed into flowering vines. Above the door was another work of art,  
this being some scene from a Shakespearean play, though Sarah did not have enough time  
to decide which one was depicted.  
  
Gabrielle grabbed her by the arm, and led Sarah quickly into the room, where the  
entire conversation immediately cut off, leaving only silence to welcome the two women.   
Sarah glanced around rather nervously, at once sure that the talk had been about her, and  
her strange shadowed past. Peter rose from his seat, and offered Sarah a wary smile, still  
obviously not sure how to act around her.  
  
"Welcome, I trust that Gabby showed you the way?" Peter questioned, gesturing  
for them to come and join the rest of the actors as they read over another section of the  
play.  
  
Sarah smiled as she walked over to the questioning eyes that greeted her. It  
seemed that she had met the only two friendly souls in the whole lot of her new  
companions. The remaining seven or eight, only glanced at her and then continued to talk,  
only this time in hushed whispers, accompanied with several muffled laughs.  
  
"Yes. This is quite an amazing place," Sarah remarked, in attempts to take the  
attention off of previous events that had occurred that day.   
  
Peter glanced around the immense theatre. It was fit with a stage, chairs,  
entertaining artwork, everything that the typical theater held. Sarah was, to put it mildly,  
quite stunned to see such a thing in a house, yet it did not entirely surprise her after  
witnessing the enormity of the entire estate. She could easily see them placing an entire  
football field in the first floor, with room to spare for spectators and two teams.  
  
It was obviously new, something that Peter had decided must be built upon his  
recent dive into writing. He did, after all, certainly have the money for it. The crushed  
velvet curtain, pulled to the side now so that the stage was shown in all its shiny glory,  
was immaculate, without so much as a crease in its crimson material. Each and every light  
remained devoid of dust, and bugs, or any other form of unsatisfactory grime, and  
obviously they all worked. Sarah almost felt sickened to see such a pristine appearance,  
nothing was meant to be this clean.  
  
"Shall we begin again, then?" Peter asked, clapping his hands together in one sharp  
movement to draw attention back to the task at hand.  
  
Sarah and Gabrielle found their seats quickly, and each picked up a single manila  
folder, also never used, which was fastened with a single piece of tape. Most of the others  
had already taken the sheets of paper from the folder and read through at least part of it.   
It never paid to be late, even when one cannot help it.  
  
Both woman hurriedly removed the script from the envelope and waited for the  
rest to continue from where they had left off. As usual, all looked towards Peter to  
explain what had happened, and tell his normal tale of how this piece had come to him. It  
was getting quite monotonous after three weeks of the same stuff.  
  
Sarah flipped through the pages quickly, as the rest remained in silence. However,  
she could not understand what trick they had decided to play on her. She held only the  
second act, scenes three to five, but nothing more of the play. Surely they did not expect  
to give her only part of the entire thing. Even if she was to only be in part, she at least  
wanted to know what the whole play was about.  
  
"I seem to be missing quite a bit of this play," Sarah stated, still searching for  
something she might have overlooked. Yet, the folder was entirely empty, and Gabrielle  
seemed to have the same scenes in her hand as well.  
  
Several frustrated sighs and moans of displeasure broke through the otherwise  
quiet group. Peter, once again, was the only one to offer any semblance of an answer.   
Sarah herself was growing quite upset with the other actors. They all believed themselves  
to be above her.  
  
"Why Sarah, I forgot entirely that you only arrived here today. I must give you the  
beginning that the others have already read over a few times. Let me assure you, that you  
are not as far behind as they might lead you to believe. Everything is in a very raw stage  
at the present time," he stated, as he wrote a quick note in a leather planner that rested on  
his lap.  
  
Still, Sarah was not sure what was happening. It certainly would help to have the  
beginning of the play, but she also wanted the end. What good would part do, if she had  
no idea how the whole thing finished?   
  
"What about the rest?" Sarah questioned, once again followed by displeased  
glances from her peers.  
  
Peter seemed to darken a bit at her inquiry. His mouth remained set, and his eyes  
turned so very cold suddenly. It could have very well been her imagination, since it had  
been working in overtime that day, but Sarah doubted it. The next instant he forced a  
smile and turned to her, still entirely serious about the whole subject.  
  
"It is not written yet," he replied simply, and then turned to show Sarah that the  
subject was closed.  
  
She turned to Gabrielle for some information, but there was none to be found. It  
seemed that all were as curious about the end as Sarah herself. Obviously, Peter was a bit  
more eccentric than she had originally believed. After all, she had never heard of a play  
being rehearsed before it was presented in its completed form. That did not mean that it  
was never done, for she had not had much experience, but Sarah seriously doubted that  
this was a regular occurrence.  
  
The general mood of the actors, and of Peter, had hardened quite a bit. Everyone  
seemed to yearn to leave, even though not much practice had occurred. Anything that  
was done, would certainly not be productive, and so Peter finally set his copy of the play  
down on his lap, and rubbed his hands over his face. He hated to throw aside even an  
hour of practice, but knew that it was useless to go on.   
  
"We'll pick up again tomorrow. Try to get some rest," Peter said, looking directly  
at Sarah, as if the comment was meant for her alone.  
  
He grabbed the piles of paper off his lap, and rose to exit the theater, as the others  
did the same. Yet, Peter paused at the door, his hand resting on the vine handle, and  
turned to look at Sarah again. Their eyes met for only a few moments, and then he  
scanned the rest of his troupe.  
  
"I will have more tomorrow, if my dreams do so oblige," he remarked cryptically,  
and then disappeared through the doors.  
  



	4. So Sad, Her Eyes

Chapter Four: So Sad, Her Eyes  
  
Sarah fell languidly atop the four-postered bed and gazed upwards and through the  
gauzy material that served as a canopy. She could have easily died right then and there,  
partly from exhaustion and partly from utter embarrassment. She had not expected to fit  
in immediately, but she at least had hoped for the others to act politely around her,  
especially since she was new.  
  
Instead, Sarah had been met with scornful looks and had made quite a few  
mistakes in the course of one short evening. She knew that Peter had begun to doubt her  
acting skills, along with her manners. He had not taken kindly to her interrogation, though  
she had not considered the questions as such. Sarah had merely wondered why she was  
presented with a few short acts, and nothing more. No one had taken the time to warn her  
of Peter's strange ways, not even Gabrielle.  
  
Sarah threw the worried thoughts from her mind, along with the entire memory of  
the day. It was best to ignore whatever downfalls she might face, and focus entirely on  
her progress. With that in her mind she rose to a sitting position and gazed around her  
new room. It was breathtaking, to say the very least.  
  
The room was equipped with its own fireplace, not nearly as large as the one found  
in the main entrance, but grand nonetheless. The mantel had been made from fine white  
marble, and was carved into several figures of horses, all very intricate and seemingly  
lifelike. Atop the fireplace rested an antique vase, filled with warm sunflowers, which  
seemed quite different from the general refined furnishings of the room.  
  
"Something I can relate to," Sarah whispered as she gazed at the flowers with a  
sort of sad realization.  
  
It would be difficult to fit in, especially being younger than all of the others, with a  
dark, hidden past. This opened the door for a countless amount of gossip, which would  
all be undeniably false, created simply from actors' active minds. She would stay strong,  
and ignore it all, along with the sideways glances and catches of muffled laughter. Surely  
they could act more adult!  
  
Sarah was startled from her thoughts as someone knocked lightly on the closed  
door. She was doomed to be on edge for the duration of the day, even though it would  
only last a short while longer. Sarah noticed that the ornate clock on the other side of the  
room read just shy of eleven o'clock.  
  
"Nearing midnight," Sarah thought to herself as she shuffled over to the door.  
  
She swung the door open, and was not too surprised to see Gabrielle's shining,  
and ever smiling face looking back at her. Sarah was unable to keep herself in the  
depressed mood that had plagued her since returning to her room. Gabrielle seemed to  
just have a way of lifting spirits, if only by grinning.  
  
"Mind if I join you for a bit?" Gabrielle questioned.  
  
Sarah quickly opened the door a little more, to allow her friend entrance. After all,  
brooding over a disappointing day alone could lead to other events that Sarah wanted to  
avoid at all costs. Gabrielle paused by the window and drew aside the thin, silken curtain,  
so that she might gaze into the darkness and the scant amount of woodland that were  
visible in the moon's serene glow.  
  
"Quite an interesting view," Sarah replied sarcastically, noting that the darkness  
held most everything in its grips.  
  
Gabrielle allowed the curtain to swing closed as she turned to Sarah. There was  
something different, something very nearly unnerving in the way her eyes shone, if only  
briefly. Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, in hopes to hide from the look that had  
taken over Gabrielle's usual cheerful face.  
  
"I don't know why they put you in here, but someone must have wanted to play a  
joke. I've just come in to warn you, Sarah, in case they decide to get smart," Gabrielle  
stated, once again averting her gaze to glance out the window.  
  
A series of shivers worked they way up and down Sarah's spine. She most  
certainly did not like the direction this conversation was going, especially if Gabrielle  
meant to tell her about some curse that would then haunt Sarah's already plagued dreams.   
She would simply never sleep again.  
  
Sarah sat upon her bed, all the strength having left her legs in one fell swoop.   
From every angle of the large room it felt as if someone, or something, was watching with  
wide, hungry eyes. Now the room was not the lovely, large thing that she had originally  
taken it for, but strange and frightening in its enormity. She suddenly yearned to be home  
again, in her bed, with her dull family and in a boring little town.  
  
"What are you talking about, Gabrielle?" Sarah questioned, afraid already of what  
the answer might be.  
  
Gabrielle ran a hand through her thick red hair which had been fastened into a  
ponytail, perhaps to prevent snarls that might form overnight. She simply fell into one of  
the cushioned chairs that had been situated throughout the room, as if Sarah expected  
company. She looked at Gabrielle, and noticed her eyes had taken on a strange haunted  
appearance, as if this tale frightened her as much as any other.  
  
"This room is what I'm talking about Sarah. If I were you I would ask to be  
moved tomorrow, first thing, so that no one can try to scare you during the night. As it is,  
you have to spend too much time here already," Gabrielle glanced around, as if worried  
that some evil presence might suddenly descend upon her.  
  
Sarah swallowed in attempts to lubricate her dry throat. She looked down at the  
carpet, stainless, as was everything in the entire mansion. It seemed almost that Fontridge  
had been built but a week ago, when in reality Sarah could not even guess at its age.   
  
"I understand that. You told me already that I shouldn't stay here, but a lot of  
good it does now. Gabrielle, what is so frightening about this room?" Sarah demanded,  
overwhelmed with the need to know the truth.  
  
Gabrielle would not look at Sarah, she simply turned to the window for the third  
time and watched the curtains, as if expecting them to suddenly move. She let out a  
haggard sigh and cleared her throat. There was obviously something to be said, but was  
too hard to put into words. At long last Gabrielle began.  
  
"It all started when Fontridge was young, about two hundred years ago. The  
mansion was far distant from any other dwelling, and so the wealthy family who resided  
here felt, obviously, isolated. This loneliness drifted over the single child in the family, a  
girl, who just happened to be strikingly beautiful. One day, the girl met a remarkable  
youth, who is rumored to have run a stall at the local market. So, they fell in love,"  
Gabrielle paused here to look at Sarah and smile a bit, "However, the girl's father frowned  
upon it, for he never wanted his daughter married to a commoner of any sorts, and  
demanded they never see each other. Of course, they did not listen, and made secret plans  
to run away."  
  
The fire, still burning in the large fireplace, suddenly popped. Both Sarah and  
Gabrielle jumped. Gabrielle laughed, but did so rather uncomfortably. She herself did not  
want to be in this room for much longer. She turned back to look at Sarah and realized  
just how much this entire story, though it was not frightening in the least, had affected the  
new girl. Nonetheless, Gabrielle knew that she couldn't stop now, and leave her friend's  
imagination to form a whole series of possible endings.  
  
"On the night they were to meet a storm overcame the land. The young man never  
met her, and she took him for dead. The girl went home, her heart broken in two, and  
locked herself in her room, this room," Gabrielle motioned around herself, " She did not  
speak to her parents, but instead sobbed all day and all night for her lost love. That is,  
until the dreaded night when the room erupted into flames. The house was nearly  
destroyed, and the parents left, thinking that their daughter had died in the fire. Yet, no  
body was found, only a single crystal orb, that survived the intense flames."  
  
She was silent, the tale sinking in ever so slowly. Sarah finally shook her head in  
response and then met Gabrielle's gaze. There was nothing to say, nothing she could do  
in response to such a thing. It was a sad love story, which most tend to be. There was  
nothing particularly special about it, yet something struck Sarah deeply and that was why  
the silence overcame her.  
  
The final sentence...a crystal orb, seemed to repeat itself as if an echo in her mind.   
Sarah bit her lip and at last looked at Gabrielle, who was also silent. Yet, hers was caused  
solely by Sarah's obvious fear, and shock with the tale. Gabrielle rose from her chair and  
took Sarah's hand in an attempt to comfort her friend.  
  
"It's only a story, Sarah, but others might not treat it so lightly. Many think the  
room is haunted, and so..." Gabrielle reminded, dead serious at this point.  
  
Sarah nodded, understanding that she was indeed overreacting about the whole  
thing. People constantly added little bits and pieces to different tales, making them seem  
better than what they actually where. For instance, the family had probably moved before  
the fire, and maybe there hadn't even been a fire, or a crystal. After all, the only true thing  
to fear where the other actors who could easily try a practical joke. Yet, the statue she  
had seen earlier haunted her memories, and made the story that much more believable.   
Perhaps Jareth had come, but why would he destroy such a lovely mansion?  
  
Sarah shook the thoughts from her mind, determined to force the worries aside.   
She smiled at Gabrielle and pulled her hand back. She did not need to be comforted. She  
was, after all, very capable of taking care of herself.  
  
"I'm just tired. I think I better get to sleep," Sarah responded, adding a yawn for  
good measure.  
  
Gabrielle looked her over carefully, as if knowing that this was all an act put on so  
that Sarah could be alone. However, who was she to argue? She had only met Sarah that  
evening, and was certain that there were quite a few secrets surrounding her. Gabrielle  
nodded in reply and then turned to leave.  
  
"If you need anything, I'm right down the hall. Its the only other room occupied in  
this area, so it shouldn't be too hard to find it," Gabrielle joked and then opened the door  
to let herself out.  
  
"Thanks," Sarah called, as the door closed, leaving her alone in the strange room.  
  
She still held so many questions concerning the story she had only just heard. Why  
would Gabrielle be afraid of the room? She had not mentioned anything about ghosts, or  
noises. Then again, Sarah could imagine how absolutely terrified she had appeared, and  
why Gabrielle would have stopped before talking about the true scary part. Sarah  
shivered and tried desperately to stop herself from reading too much into these tales.  
  
She glanced at the clock once again and was granted with another eerie feeling.   
The hands had only just fell on to midnight, and she could already hear several clocks  
throughout the mansion chiming this infamous hour. Her own wound suddenly and began  
tolling away the twelve long droning chimes. She listened to each one, as if it would be  
the last time she would ever hear the sound.   
  
"Eleven...twelve," she counted to herself.  
  
The entire house remained silent, except for her room. At the last moment the  
clock allowed another toll to ring out, echoing in its obscurity. Sarah turned to look at the  
timepiece, mounted on the wall, and realized in horror that twelve was not the top hour,  
but instead thirteen. Her body went suddenly cold, and chills wracked her system.  
  
She had looked at it earlier, and was entirely certain that this had been but a  
normal clock, ever ticking onward into eternity. However, there was no denying what her  
eyes beheld, the thirteenth hour, just done chiming. Why there should be such a clock in  
her room, of all rooms in the entire mansion, she could not decide, but it figured.  
  
"Why must you torment me? I want to go on with life!" Sarah moaned, and buried  
her face into her hands.  
  
She did not cry, for she would not let herself to do that. Things were not that  
hopeless. If Jareth demanded to be back into her life, then she would simply accept it and  
the minor annoyances that went along with his presence. However, she would continue  
on as if nothing were out of the ordinary.  
  
She brought her eyes back to the clock, and was not surprised in the least to see it  
returned to its normal self. Jareth liked to toy with people. Perhaps he wished to make  
Sarah believe that she had gone mad. First there were the dreams, then the statue, and the  
room, and finally the clock.   
  
Sarah slowly rose to her shaking legs, not sure where she was headed, but  
determined to do something other than gawk at the altered time piece. She did need sleep,  
but at that moment, when the memories of certain unnerving dreams happened to drift  
past her, slumber was the furthest thought from her mind. Instead, she found herself  
standing before the large window that Gabrielle had gazed out earlier, arms wrapped  
firmly around herself.  
  
Gabrielle had been so interested in what she saw outside and Sarah had merely  
joked about the darkness. After all, she had truly believed that there could be nothing seen  
in the distance, considering the lack of street lights, or rather lights of any kind. Still,  
Sarah reached out and brushed away the wispy curtains with a single sweep of her hand so  
that she might glance at the darkened scenery outside.  
  
The illumination offered by the moon was quite brighter than Sarah had originally  
imagined. Obviously the clouds had broken to allow the majestic white orb to shine  
through. The entire ground was bathed in a serene moonlight, transforming nearby trees  
into creations formed of magnificent sparkling silver, instead of regular green leaves.   
Even the patchy grass had been replaced by a pool of liquid moonshine.  
  
"A crystal moon," Sarah mused as she allowed the curtain to return to its rightful  
place.  
  
She turned, to perhaps go to sleep and forget all about the horrid day. However,  
Sarah could not continue away from the window, at least not yet. Something, or some  
image, returned to her mind, only a fleeting picture at the most. Had she seen it out of the  
corner of her eye at the last second, and only dwelled on it now, or was it all formed by  
her imagination? Her curiosity was roused and there was no denying it.  
  
Sarah laughed a bit at herself as she turned to face the curtain and rolled her  
lovely, deep chestnut eyes. She was simply being silly, that was it. However, she knew  
that she was going to look, and so it would be best to get it all over with. Sarah drew  
aside the curtain once again and then bent forward to look through the clear, never  
smudged glass.  
  
The same moonlight fell on the same sparse grass and wooded lands. It was just  
as dark as before, with nothing out of the ordinary save a strange gray mist that had only  
begun to form at the base of the final trees, those closest to the mansion. It drifted about  
and moved, as if a predatory animal and not fog.  
  
A gentle voice broke through, and into Sarah's mind. It echoed all around her, as  
if the entire room consisted solely of the noise and nothing more. It rode a melody, so  
sweet and tender, and yet so very sad as well.   
  
"On such a breathless night as this  
Upon my brow the lightest kiss.  
I walked alone  
and all around the air did say  
my lady soon would stir this way  
in sorrow known."   
  
The song drifted, taking on more human like qualities at each passing moment. It  
was no longer a detached spirit's haunting chant, but rather a song dedicated to lost love  
sung by a minstrel near at hand. Sarah could almost believe that, should she reach back  
and grasp out, she would feel the singer's hands hold her own. It was simply a funny  
feeling, but Sarah ignored it and continued to watch the mist.  
  
As for the song, she decided that it was just one of those melodies that takes over  
one's mind with its presence. Sarah had always heard music in her mind, generally after  
listening to a rather catchy tune. However, she could not recall this one, and so made the  
situation that much more unnerving.  
  
"The White Queen walks and  
the night grows pale...  
stars of lovingness in her hair."   
  
The voice drifted off for a moment. The sensation of being watched nearly drove  
her mad, and she did not look by sheer will power alone. Sarah did not want to fall into  
the habit of constantly glancing over her shoulder. Yet, the mist had done nothing  
different, only remained in that one area, as if watching her in the window. At that  
thought Sarah flung the curtain closed and backed away from the window, still trying to  
see if the fog remained.  
  
A warmth brushed against her cheek, almost like a hand stroking her face. Sarah  
shied away from that side and glanced around nervously. However, there was nothing to  
see, save her empty room. From directly behind her, a breath touched her neck, causing  
tingles to lick up and down her spine. The next instant two hands, cloaked in harsh leather  
gloves gripped her arms, drawing her near to the figure that remained unseen.  
  
Another breath tickled against her ear, and though she could not turn to see, Sarah  
suddenly realized that her attacker meant to sing to her. The melody had not been her  
own creation, but rather that of this stranger, come to invade her life. If she could have  
only screamed and gathered a crowd to the room, then he would have left. However, she  
found her voice gone.  
  
"So sad, her eyes  
smiling, dark eyes  
So sad, her eyes  
As it began."  
  
With the closure of the final note, the fire in the fireplace died, along with the other  
lights illuminating her room. The only glow was offered by that of the serene white moon.  
  



	5. Silver Illusions

Chapter Five: Silver Illusions  
  
Sarah reached back, to grasp her flailing hand around a fold of the rich, satin  
material that had made his coat. Instinctively she tore at it, hoping only to inflict as much  
damage as possible, in the shortest amount of time. The sweet sound of the divine cloth  
ripping rung in her ears, and despite the horrid situation, a strange smile found its way to  
her paled lips.  
  
The hands that had since then secured her in close quarters, immediately dropped  
away, to leave Sarah panting and still holding the cloth in a trembling fist. She looked at  
the navy color, that was evident even in such poor lighting. However, in the twinkling  
moonshine she could tell that the garment was covered in a fine spray of glittering crystal  
dust.  
  
"Jareth!" she nearly growled his name.   
  
After all she had been through, he had chosen that moment to appear to her. Sarah  
twirled about and glared at the angered Goblin King. However, his foul mood was only to  
last a short time. In the matter of moments his ripped jacket appeared back in its full and  
natural state. All her effort had been for naught, leaving him only slightly troubled with  
her 'poor manners.'  
  
Jareth clasped his hands behind his back and flashed his normal sly smile, showing  
those predatory teeth. Sarah nearly flinched, but would not allow herself the moment of  
weakness. He had put her through hell. First, when he took Toby, and again when his  
image remained burned forever in her mind, dreams, everything.  
  
"I thought we could meet on more pleasant terms," Jareth took a few steps toward  
Sarah, while she only retreated enough to keep their spacing the same.  
  
"So very stubborn, that you must deny what your own heart yearns for, eternally .   
Sarah, why must you torture yourself?" Jareth asked, now deciding to circle her, so that  
there was nowhere to back away.  
  
She followed him with her eyes, as a mouse might watch the cat stalking it from  
nearby. She could not run, for Jareth was much too quick to allow that. Her only hope  
was in keeping him at bay until help could arrive.   
  
Just as her thoughts began to mull over that of help and escape, he swept forward.   
Sarah was taken quite by surprise as a hand, still cloaked in black leather, traced a line  
along her cheek and paused just at the base of her neck. Sarah shivered, unable to control  
herself and the emotions his touch had invoked in her body.   
  
"Stop!" she demanded, though her voice was not quite as powerful as she had  
wished it to be.  
  
Jareth moved his hand once again and placed it directly below her chin. Sarah was  
very much free to slap him away, though she did not make a single move in that direction.   
Instead, she seemed to have focused on an internal conflict. His grin deepened and Jareth  
stepped closer, so that his face was but a breath from her own.  
  
Sarah gasped, and he tilted her face upwards so that their gaze might meet. Cold  
ice and pools of rich chestnut melded together in an eruption of lightning emotions. For  
seconds they remained that way, both transfixed by the others equally shocked stare.   
  
With something that resembled pain, Jareth recoiled from her and drew his hand  
against his chest. It rested directly over his heart, moving only slightly from the deep  
breaths that heaved through his body. The Goblin King seemed almost frightened as he  
looked at her, though entirely avoiding her eyes, still able to note her confusion.  
  
"Leave my sight!" she demanded, suddenly full of herself again, and reminded of  
just who this was that she had allowed to remain so close.  
  
Jareth dwelled a moment in that spot, as if debating doing what she had said.   
Perhaps he had changed over the eight long years she had been away. Then he raised his  
hand and pointed at Sarah. His face remained set, devoid of the original teasing humor  
and mischief.  
  
"You have become too involved Sarah, leave while there is still time to do so, or  
your sanity will be the lowest price you will pay," Jareth warned ominously as he took  
several steps backwards, and towards the fireplace.  
  
He produced a single crystalline orb and then showed it to Sarah for a breathtaking  
instant. She did not look, but instead glanced at the clock. He would not use any of his  
old tricks on her, for she had become sly as well, through her hardships. He noticed her  
stubbornness and tossed away all other theatrics.  
  
"Heed my warning, young girl," Jareth declared, and then hurled the crystal in her  
direction.  
  
Sarah yelped in fear, but realized the next moment that there was nothing of which  
to be frightened. The crystal collided against her stomach, but simply felt as if she had  
been hit by nothing more than a feather. It toppled to the ground and then popped, as if it  
had always been a bubble. She watched the remnants filter away, and then turned to see  
what had become of the Goblin King while she had been distracted by his trick.  
  
As she had guessed, Jareth no longer remained in the room with her. However, a  
fleeting image of a snowy white owl, only accentuated by the jet expanse of sky, showed  
her where he had gone. She was mildly surprised that there had been no grand  
performance as he left. Jareth had always been one for putting on a spectacular show.   
  
She strolled back to the window. Still Sarah felt a slight tingle down her spine  
from the memory of his touch, and the breath against her ear as his intoxicating voice  
drifted by, tantalized her mind. She swallowed deeply, assuring herself that this was all  
unimportant, for Jareth had that effect on most every woman that happened near him.   
After all, lust was quite a distance away from any feelings of love.  
  
He had left the window ajar, allowing a cool breeze entrance into her otherwise  
warm, if not a bit uncomfortable, room. Sarah grasped the window and pulled towards  
herself, as if to close it against the cold night weather. A drifting scent of rain snaked  
through her senses, though it still remained relatively clear outside.  
  
Then, as if a ghost returned to terrorize her newly found peace, gentle sobs filled  
the silence. Sarah paused, still glancing down to the ground, with one hand holding the  
open window. The noise that she had only heard in her dreams had now entered reality.   
It was as if the barrier between fantasy and actuality was ever so slowly eroding away,  
until nothing was left.   
  
"What? What do you want from me?!" Sarah demanded.  
  
As if in response to her question the eerie gray mist that had remained beneath the   
trees all through her confrontation with Jareth, suddenly edged out into the clearing. It  
swirled about in strange magical patterns, those that could not have existed normally in  
her world. Sarah bit her lip and dared to lean out of the window, so that she could watch  
the fog twist and turn into some form that seemed nearly familiar.  
  
Long, smooth legs, muscled and powerful formed in the same ghost-like shade as  
the fog had been. Next a body, sleek and shining in the streaming moon light, which made  
the entire spectacle almost silver sequined, appeared. Its neck rose, stretching to gaze into  
the night sky through wide, tender eyes. The being's head, noble and majestic, turned to  
look at Sarah, and acknowledged her with almost human sadness. Silver rivers of hair,  
forming the spirit horse's mane and tail, rode a lone breeze that drifted over it.  
  
Sarah placed her shaking hand over her mouth, attempting to block the cries of  
shock that struggled to break free. Still the horse watched her, not moving from the spot  
at which it had formed. She stepped away from the window, drawing it closed with  
silence and grace Sarah had believed she lacked. Even her withdrawal did not disturb the  
creature, but rather only intensified the yearning, sad gleam in its deep chestnut eyes.  
  
"Sleep. I'm just tired," Sarah muttered as she trembled uncontrollably.  
  
Still the image of the horse was burnt forever in her mind. She was unable to  
ignore its presence, for the power of its gaze drilled right through the wall and to her very  
soul. Sarah laid upon the downy bed and turned from the window.   
  
The sobbing deepened, circling her entire shivering form. Sarah wrapped the  
covers around her body and buried her face in the pillows. Despite her greatest attempts  
to achieve silence, the crying broke through, almost as if it emanated from her mind and  
not some point in the room.  
  
She snapped her eyes back open and turned to glance about, perhaps see if some  
phantom woman had not found her way into the haunted room. Gabrielle had warned, but  
she had not quite told Sarah the extent of the troubles the room faced each night, or at  
least that certain time... the witching hour.  
  
"Please," Sarah muttered, drawing the sheets up to her chin in some childish form  
of protection.  
  
She could only pray that it was a nightmare. However, since sleep still managed to  
evade her tired body, Sarah doubted that that was a possibility. Her deep breaths mingled  
with the air in the room, the latter of the two which had quite suddenly become noticeably  
cold. It was such an intense chill which bit through her blankets, sheets, and clothes, and  
turned her breath into a spray of white mist. She watched it drift away and then fade, only  
to return with her next exhale.  
  
The crying strengthened, maddening in its power. It echoed, reverberating back  
and forth until Sarah could not tell which was the actual spirit. She was sure that  
everyone would hear the nearly deafening sobs and hitches for air. Yet, no one knocked  
on her door, nor did she hear the faintest call of another human in the entire manor. Sarah  
was alone.  
  
"Stop. Stop. Stop!" she screamed, clutching her hands over her ears.  
  
This time there was a sound, but not that of help. Instead a medley of whispers in  
strange languages she did not understand. They came from all corners, though none  
reaching the decibel the crying phantom had. Just as suddenly as they had begun, the  
voices faded away. It took nearly five minutes before the last sound drifted to her ears,  
and then silence blanketed everything.  
  
She dared to look at that point, and opened her blurred and burning eyes. The  
only constant noise was that of the clock, ticking on and on towards two in the morning.   
Sleep would not be possible that night, which would leave Sarah a complete mess once  
rehearsal time happened around.  
  
Of course the clock took no notice of her plight and continued its rhythmic sounds.   
And yet, even with that firm normalcy as a clock's tocks, Sarah found a strange uncertain  
difference disguised only slightly. It was almost like the high chipping sound of something  
sharp striking glass, to the beat of the timepiece.   
  
"Perhaps a tree limb brushes the window when the wind blows," Sarah thought to  
herself, though already did not believe the feeble excuse.  
  
She knew very well that there was no tree anywhere near Fontridge Manor. Sarah  
had easily seen the clearing the mansion sat within. The only explanation for the strange,  
continuing sound, would be one more fantastic than a regular tree. She could nearly see  
the cause of the disturbance, without even looking at the window.  
  
With a grand sigh, to hide the fear that was still so embedded in her every  
movement, Sarah rose from her bed. The covers fell, unceremoniously to the ground in a  
rather crumpled heap. Their luxuriant appearance lowered to that of regular linen, and  
messy at that. However, the sure sin she had committed by treating such grand material in  
a horrid way went unnoticed as Sarah strode towards the window in attempts to act as her  
normal, defiant self.  
  
A flash of shadows, grayed against the still curtain, appeared before her widened  
eyes. Sarah paused, gasping in shock. She had certainly not expected to see such an  
obvious sign of 'his' presence, as that of the white owl trying desperately to enter into her  
room. However, there it was, if only in shadow form behind the curtain, amidst a flurry of  
wings.  
  
"Jareth! How dare you...," her voice cut off as she drew the curtain aside, to  
accentuate her point.  
  
In an instant the owl vanished, and a low thrumming sound of pure energy  
attacked her. Sarah winced, but was unable to do much more. It only lasted for the  
briefest time, before everything simply exploded upon her. The glass of the window  
shattered, and shards rained upon her as Sarah tried to block the onslaught with her tender  
hands.  
  
A thrill of pain rushed through her wrists, and instantly the world swam in crimson  
tides of nausea. Sarah plummeted to the ground, falling painfully atop large, slicing pieces  
of glass and gritted bits that had been completely shattered. Her hands fell into her lap,  
but all she managed to do was gaze in stunned horror at her two slashed wrists, in the  
same spot as where scars could be found. Even as blood, thick and nearly black against  
her white sweats in the darkness, began to pool, Sarah did not scream nor make a move to  
help herself.  
  
She merely closed her eyes, and slowly slumped backwards, into what she believed  
to be the hard, carpeted floor. Yet, she did not strike any surface, but rather continued to  
fall into nothing. It was nearly like falling from a dream, when one is hovering between the  
realms of sleeping and waking. Everything was dowsed in cold gray tones, and all was  
suddenly silent.   
  
Sarah bolted straight up in her bed and gasped a struggled breath into her burning  
lungs. Wild, nearly crazed eyes scanned the entire room, and at last she leaned back into  
the gentle pillows that had cradled her head through the night. Yet, what a night it had  
been!  
  
"A dream, nothing but a dream," Sarah muttered to herself, raising one trembling  
hand to sweep a stray lock of hair from her face.  
  
It was then, that she realized the true horror of the night prior. Her hand was  
smeared in blood, and turning it over revealed a large gash that still oozed the red  
substance. Everywhere she saw it, covering her vision like a fog. Her mind rushed in  
circles, unable to find any rationale reasoning that could work with this situation.   
  
With intensity that could have very well rivaled that of the most primal beast,  
Sarah screamed, and did not stop until frantic voices where heard from outside of her  
door.  



	6. Fleeting Happiness

Chapter Six: Fleeting Happiness  
  
Sarah winced as the nurse secured the bandages firmly with a final piece of medical  
tape. She offered Sarah a knowing glance, etched with a stern care that the woman  
probably gave to all attempted suicide cases. However, Sarah knew that this had not been  
of her own causing, for she would have remembered it that way. She was certain that this  
was not her fault, but was unable to convince anyone else of that fact.  
  
Gabrielle smiled and held Sarah's hand lightly, trying not to jostle the freshly  
tended wounds. When the Gabrielle had first rushed into Sarah's room, hair wild and  
surrounding a face that was positively ashen with shock, she had been sure that all the  
blood meant nothing but death. However, Sarah had been very much alive at that time,  
still screaming at the top of her lungs and holding her arms, wrist up, out to anyone for  
help.  
  
"Come on Sarah," Gabrielle remarked, holding a sigh at bay as she rose to her feet.  
  
She gripped her plain leather purse firmly in hand and then graced Sarah with a  
tender smile. It was obvious that Gabrielle, along with the rest of the actors, believed  
Sarah had been faced with too much. Why else would there be two cuts, sliced vertically  
down her wrists, than the obvious reason of suicide.  
  
Sarah began to pull herself up, but quickly realized with a cringe, that it was not a  
good idea. A searing pain roared through her arms, as the new sutures pulled against the  
raw skin. Gabrielle made no move to help Sarah, but instead stood by and watched with  
something that could have very well been sympathy, or perhaps only disgust. At that  
point Sarah did not really care about anything.  
  
She carefully made her way off the bed and paused by Gabrielle, who waited at the  
open door. The clinic was quite small, with only a single doctor practicing, and assisted  
by two nurses. However, it had been close by, and considering Sarah's condition earlier  
that morning, time was not something of which they had excess.  
  
"I'm surprised they didn't hold you for observation," Gabrielle remarked as she  
started out into the waiting room.   
  
The nurse glanced at Sarah once again, noting her downcast expression and the  
bruised bags beneath her bloodshot eyes. Just to take in her appearance, one could easily  
assume that she was not happy. Yet, how was she supposed to look after a day filled with  
haunting apparitions of Jareth? Sarah ignored the stares and hurried out the door, which  
Gabrielle held for her.  
  
"I already told you that I didn't do it," Sarah stated, though her voice was  
emotionally drained.  
  
Gabrielle glanced at Sarah out of the side of her eyes and then stopped at the car.   
Peter had driven, since Gabrielle had been near hysterics at the sight of the blood. Now he  
only looked at the two and then promptly revved the engine back to life. He was  
obviously upset, and Sarah knew that she could say nothing to convince him that death  
was the furthest thought from her mind.   
  
The two women climbed in and, once the doors were shut, the entire atmosphere  
of the car was blanketed in a choking silence. It only succeeded in causing even more  
chaotic thoughts to enter Sarah's plagued mind, rambling one way and then another to  
find some meaning in the nonsense. She was utterly exhausted, and still did not know  
whether she had slept at all the night prior, or had dreamt the entire adventure.  
  
"This was quite a shock, Sarah," Peter stated from the front seat, glancing in the  
rear-view mirror so as to catch a glimpse of her ashen face.  
  
Sarah immediately turned her attention to the director/playwright. He averted his  
gaze back to the road, leaving Sarah suspended and wondering if he would speak more on  
the subject. She could not even begin to explain what had happened, and knew that no  
one, short of a lunatic, would believe it.   
  
Gabrielle cleared her throat and then turned to look at the passing countryside  
scenery. In a distant field she could see a herd of cattle, grazing contentedly upon the  
patchy grass. The morning still held quite a fog, that blanketed some areas in gray  
mystery. However, it had begun to lift, and even golden rays of sunshine were starting to  
peek through the cloud layer overhead.   
  
Peter turned on to yet another country road, this one a bit bumpier than the last.   
Sarah could only pray that Fontridge was nearby, for her arms hurt something awful, and  
she had begun to feel a bit dizzy as well. She leaned against the door, placing her warm  
forehead against the coolness of the glass.   
  
"You might as well rest up today. I can give you what there is of the play," Peter  
finally stated, with a discouraged sigh.  
  
"Thank-you," she responded, for sleep did sound like a dream come true at that  
time.  
  
Dreams. The sudden appearance of that word not only halted any thoughts of  
sleep, but terrified her as well. Jareth had inflicted this injury upon her, through her sleep,  
and had not even considered the very real possibility of her death resulting from the cuts.   
She shivered and removed her head from the window. Suddenly the entire car felt too  
cold.  
  
Fontridge appeared suddenly from behind the old forest, looming like some beast  
in the midst of the dissipating fog. In the mid morning, with only bits of sun breaking  
through the clouds, it almost had an eerie look to it. Sarah watched, her breath held, as  
they paused at the wrought iron gates, which were forever closed to outsiders.  
  
"You okay, Sarah?" Gabrielle asked, her concern evident in every mannerism of  
her character.   
  
Sarah was a bit startled by the sudden worry. She had believed everyone to be  
mad at her. She turned to Gabrielle and managed a shaking smile. She then nodded  
briefly and glanced back to the closed gate, and Peter. Sarah hoped silently that her entire  
career had not been ruined in the form of one magical nightmare.  
  
The gates came alive the next instant, this time creaking only slightly. Peter  
cringed at the sound and bit back a few harsh words he would have with the hired help.   
They were paid to keep the Manor in proper order. He abruptly drove throughout the  
gate and down the cobbled driveway.  
  
As the car pulled to a stop, at the end of the driveway, Sarah could easily see the  
several faces peering at them through the window. The other actors and actresses  
watched in stunned silence, or what could be perceived as such. However, Sarah could  
almost hear the little catches of gossip and laughter that would follow as they waited for  
the 'nut' to come back inside.   
  
Gabrielle nearly leapt from the car, and strolled into the chilled morning air. Her  
breath formed its own fog, as it hit the coldness. Yet, she did not seem to notice the low  
temperature, for Gabrielle remained out there, as Sarah and Peter sat in the car, still  
overcome by lack of words.  
  
He acknowledged the crowd of spectators and then turned, only slightly, so that he  
could look at the young girl in the back seat. She shivered, as if cold, but a fine sheen of  
sweat had graced her furrowed brow. Sarah was obviously deep in thought, for her eyes  
stared off into the distance, through the fog, and to something so horrendous that Peter  
could only speculate.  
  
"People talk, but you must face it," he said with a detached air, proclaiming  
himself, without saying, that he would not become any more involved with her problems.  
  
Sarah turned her misty eyes towards him, breaking the link to the past that had  
somehow overshadowed all else for those few fleeting moments. It had felt, almost as if  
she could simply step from the car and back into the labyrinth, with Jareth as her guide. A  
brush of feathers, soft as silk, touched her face. However, the vision dissipated with  
Peter's voice, and Sarah immediately acknowledged him.  
  
"I understand," Sarah responded, trying in vain to sound less drugged than she felt.  
  
"Well, then," Peter proclaimed under his breath as he threw the door open.  
  
He opened her door as well, aiding Sarah from the car with as much gentleness as  
possible. Her wrists still were considerably sore, as was her head. She had developed  
quite a throbbing headache, that almost blurred her sight as she walked just behind Peter,  
and towards Gabrielle, who waited at the verandah. As the three drew into sight, the  
onlookers within Fontridge disappeared from the window, and allowed the massive curtain  
to fall back into place.  
  
The next instant the door was swung open, and Sarah found herself bombarded  
with scores of questions from people who had found her unworthy of even the simplest  
form of conversation the night prior. They all wanted to know what had happened and  
what she had really done. Of course, Sarah swept past them all, trying to ward off the  
sound, but unable to force her tender arms up to cover her ears. They all drilled in on her  
already sickening headache.  
  
"What do you all care about her? Leave her alone!" a gruff voice called from the  
midst of the crowd.  
  
All questions ceased at once, leaving a strange silence over the room. Peter  
stepped forward, absolutely disgusted with every last person he had hired. He had  
believed them to be professionals, when in reality he had received nothing more than  
trained children. The only true kind soul that had treated Sarah kindly, had been Gabrielle,  
who was still shocked that such a thing, as had happened that morning, had really been  
true.  
  
Peter met the downcast gazes of several of the more haughty performers and then  
rushed down the hall Sarah had taken in search of refuge. He knew already that she  
would be lost. As a matter of fact, her room was in the entire different direction. He  
doubted that she was thinking straight after everything.  
  
"Sarah?" Peter called, skirting past the maid who had just exited one of the many  
rooms that lined this hallway.  
  
A gentle murmur from just around the corner, answered his call. Peter casually  
glanced around, to meet Sarah's tear-stained gaze. She abruptly wiped the tears from her  
cheeks with her sweater. However, there was no hiding the toll that life had taken on such  
a young woman. Her face was drawn, and paled. Eyes that appeared so deep and  
thoughtful, now seemed only lost, and forever reddened with unspent tears. Even her rich  
chestnut locks had lost their lustrous appearance.  
  
Sarah did not move, but only looked at him as if he would suddenly change before  
her widened eyes. He very nearly feared it himself, for she was so overcome with terror.   
Peter offered her his hand, to lead her to her room. Yet, she only glanced briefly at it and  
then turned her eyes to the ground.  
  
"Come with me, Sarah," Peter demanded, though did so in a soft, almost alluring  
voice.  
  
The tone rang in her mind as one that she had heard far too many times. It was  
that of the Goblin King. Sarah recoiled from the kind gesture, and turned from Peter. Her  
delusions had broken into the real world, and had even infected some innocent bystanders.   
Now, she was too tired to think, or even dwell on any of the problems at hand.  
  
After quite some time spent in that stand still, Peter grabbed Sarah's thin arm and  
forced her to look, to at least understand that she was not all alone. Even then, her eyes  
burned with resentment, or perhaps something that was merely sadness. He could spend  
forever in attempts to analyze her many facets, but did not even imagine having that much  
time.  
  
"I suppose this is it then," Sarah stated as she slowly walked forward, and broke  
herself from her semi-catatonic state.  
  
Peter only turned, not really in the mood to take up any of that type of  
conversation. It was obvious that Sarah had been through a lot, and he wasn't quite sure  
if she should have had the extra pressures of acting to add to all the other stressors of  
regular life. He did not want to be responsible for someone's mental breakdown. He  
turned a corner, still leaving her statement without a remark.  
  
Sarah sighed deeply, but continued to follow the man. She glanced casually down  
at her bandaged wrists, so very like what had happened years earlier. Only then, she had  
been immediately placed in an institution, her entire family fearing that she had gone  
completely mad.   
  
"I'm going slightly mad," she heard the familiar song's phrase in her mind, bringing  
a smile forth from her dismal mood.  
  
Peter stopped, and offered Sarah the strangest look at her grin. He placed one  
hand on the knob of the door, directly beside him, almost as if ready to get away from the  
crazy woman. Sarah, however, quickly brushed the smile from her face, for reality had a  
tendency to seep into any bit of mirth she was allowed.  
  
He did not move, but instead swung the door open, offering Sarah a view of the  
room within. She immediately realized where she was, and that the suitcase resting on the  
ground near the massive bed was, in fact, hers. He had brought her to a place so that she  
might be alone, or more importantly, away from callous people. Yet, at that precise  
moment, rest sounded the most enticing prospect for her hours in isolation.  
  
She brushed past Peter, not entirely sure why his eyes followed her so closely. She  
was certain that he did not believe her to be dangerous, so why keep such a keen watch  
over her every move? Sarah instantly turned about, so that she might also watch Peter.   
Trust was something she was rather short on at the present time.  
  
"Will you be all right?" he questioned, leaning against the doorframe.  
  
Sarah averted her gaze to the bed and allowed a ragged sigh to escape from her  
mouth. It did look so very inviting, but the idea of dreams plagued her sleepy mind. Rest  
would have to wait until later. She nodded, still not daring to look back at the director in  
fear of what worry might be present in his features.  
  
It could have been cat-like grace, or possibly Sarah's drowsy mind, but somehow  
Peter had found his way to her side. A tender hand swept through her thick, lustrous hair,  
brushing it away from her face. Sarah jerked backwards and prepared to ward off the  
possible threat. Peter merely smiled and then allowed a seriousness to return to his face.  
  
"I'll be fine," Sarah responded, hoping that maybe a verbal answer might entice  
him to leave her quicker.  
  
"I certainly don't think your fine, Sarah. In fact, you're far from it, but I don't  
believe that you are the kind who would kill herself. What really happened...is something  
that I hope one day you might tell me," he urged, as he took a single step closer to her.  
  
His emerald eyes shone with a form of magic that had only been seen in Jareth's till  
that instant. Sarah herself had not quite ruled out the possibility that Peter could very well  
be the Goblin king in disguise. However, as a strange giddy feeling emerged from her  
very soul, Sarah hoped with every breath that would ever pass from her body that Peter  
had no relation to her sworn enemy.  
  
He stopped before her once more and grasped her hands in his own. She had not  
even guessed that Peter felt this way. She hadn't even dreamed about it. Of course, her  
dreams were no longer her own. Instead they had become the strange realm for a certain  
Fae king she could have done without.  
  
Peter urged her forward with soft tugs on her hands. She dared a step, an  
embarrassed laugh breaking the unnerving silence. Peter too grinned, but did nothing  
more to assure her that this was acceptable, for a relationship to form between employee  
and employer. Sarah was not quite sure if it was such a wise thing to do, but could not  
speak her worries.  
  
With agility that rivaled that of Jareth's, Sarah found herself in his arms. He pulled  
her close, holding her, comforting her. Sarah sighed and titled her chin upwards, so that  
she might gaze into those calming emerald eyes that twinkled in the filtering sunlight. It  
was perfect, entirely and utterly bliss.  
  
The next instant he closed the distance between them to nothing, pressing his  
warm lips firmly to her own. Hunger burst within her, a need to be alive again with a  
human who could possibly comprehend all she had faced. Sarah clutched her arms about  
his strong neck and returned his passion.  
  
Peter suddenly jerked away, his breath caught and held, as if he had heard  
something or suspected that he had been caught in here. He glanced around, gazing at the  
door, only left slightly ajar. Nothing had changed, as far as Sarah could tell. However,  
the moment had been shattered, and Sarah felt the intensity of her feelings dulled to only  
scant sparks of emotions, that could be towards Peter, or perhaps meant for someone else  
entirely. Sarah shivered at the thought.  
  
"I'm sorry," Peter muttered, dropping his arms from around her body and casually  
stepping away.  
  
Sarah quickly gathered herself together and managed a reassuring smile. Peter  
returned it and then rubbed the back of his neck. This had all turned into a horridly  
awkward situation. She was not quite sure how to solve it, but decided that it was about  
time for Peter to leave. He seemed worried about being discovered kissing the crazy  
foreigner.  
  
"Thank you, Peter, for everything," Sarah added emphasis so that he might  
understand the extent of her gratitude.   
  
He reached out and gripped her hand in his own, and gazed into her eyes for what  
seemed like a lifetime. If he had not suddenly pulled away, she was sure she would find  
herself in his arms once again. Yet, without warning he dropped from view, behind the  
door and closed it gently after himself. Sarah could only stand there, her heart beating a  
bit fast and her breath slightly rushed. Still, she could not help but feel great.  
  
Everything felt so very bright, after the lovely experience. Surely she had never  
been so positive in the face of adversity before, even when traversing the labyrinth so  
many years before. Sarah clasped her hands together and turned to look at the mocking  
bed. She still felt entirely exhausted, but the memory of what horrid times she had spent  
while sleeping seemed to plague her entire being. Nonetheless, the comfortable mattress  
and downy pillow looked so very inviting.  
  
The high-pitched sound of nails across glass broke Sarah from her tired state. She  
swirled around, ready to face the Goblin King from any direction he should chose to  
attack. All that met her wild, angered gaze, was an innocent little bird, fluttering just  
outside her room. It seemed to raise a bit, and then settle back to eye level, as if it was  
watching her.  
  
With a final beat of its wings, the bird rose into the air, and away from Sarah. She  
reached out to the curtains, the next instant, and pulled them closed. She did not intend  
on seeing any other peculiar sights that day. With a sigh, she turned from the window and  
headed towards one of the several velveteen chairs in her room. If sleep was not an  
option, then studying the script would be.   
  
"I guess this will have to do," she whispered to herself, gazing at the scant amount  
of papers she held in her hands.  
  
With another contented sigh she relaxed back in the chair to read through the  
section of the mysterious play, fighting against her heavy lids the entire time.  



	7. The Outing

Chapter Seven: The Outing  
  
"It really is very lovely," Sarah remarked with a glance towards the well-manicured  
garden.   
  
Peter strolled with his hands placed in the small of his back, also turning to gaze  
momentarily towards the lovely masterpiece of blooming foliage. Roses shimmered with  
the morning dew, and portrayed in an array of hues, ranging from a gentle yellow to the  
most shocking shade of crimson red. Amidst the pride of the garden stood flowers of  
varying types. None were less than perfect.  
  
"We have quite good groundsmen here," Peter replied with a brief laugh.   
  
She added her own laughter, feeling at last a sense of tranquillity and the beginning  
of happiness entering her life. After all, the night prior had been the first peaceful slumber  
Sarah had had for quite some time without the aid of sleeping pills. Medications had been  
literally poured into her during her stay at the hospital, and she had vowed then that never  
would the vile products be forced upon her again, unless some dire need called for them.  
  
Still, the fact remained that her night had been restful, and she had risen refreshed.   
It was the new beginning Sarah had been searching for, at last revealed to her. She had a  
new career, friends, and even a man whom, (Sarah glanced briefly at him as she continued  
in her thought), she believed she was growing to like quite a lot.  
  
Peter had been by early to her room, merely to check on her and see that  
everything was going well. He had come equipped with a silver tray, laden with fresh  
fruits, juice and other scrumptious breakfast foods offered in abundance. Such a kind  
gesture was not often witnessed in her life, and so she found herself nearly brought to  
tears by his consideration.  
  
Shortly later, Peter had surprised her once more by offering a walk around the  
grounds. Sarah had, of course, readily accepted, opting for the outdoors over the stuffy  
theatre anytime. The crisp morning air was also a rejuvenating experience.  
  
Slipping on a warm jacket and thick woolen gloves, she had followed Peter around  
the mansion, observing that vast yard, many gardens, and other niches and crannies that  
were abundant at Fontridge. The entire place was so grand, lovely, impressive... like a  
fairytale dream come true!  
  
"Now, what is this?" Sarah inquired as she paused at a building smaller in  
proportion to even the guest house.   
  
The building was constructed entirely from wood, which appeared ageless, despite  
the slight weather-worn appearance of the outside. Sarah hesitated at the wide double  
doors, which slid along hinges that shone with silver perfection in the light of the morning  
sun. Peter followed and then grasped the wooden handles firmly in each hand.  
  
"Why this is our stable," Peter stated, as he slid the doors effortlessly along their  
tracks.  
  
Sarah faltered noticeably, her smile suddenly falling completely from her face.   
Peter turned at the sudden silence and scrutinized the woman's obvious shock. He leaned  
back against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest and then raised his eyebrows slightly  
in question.  
  
Sarah merely shook herself from the stunned silence and hurried along inside the  
stable. She had always believed that horses were quite majestic animals, though had never  
attempted to ride one. The closest she had ever come was, actually, stroking their warm  
muzzles occasionally.  
  
Still, she remembered the silver steed that had stood outside her window the fist  
night she had been at Fontridge. The horse had seemed to appear from nothing, and  
demonstrated near human characteristics in its warm dark eyes. Sarah shivered despite her  
heavy clothing as she entered the clean aisle between the two rows of stalls. The scent of  
fresh hay and clean bedding drifted through the air, as did the occasional lazy fly.  
  
The overhead lights came on with a snap and a brief buzz of electricity. Sarah  
nearly jumped and then, with a smile firmly placed on her rosy lips, turned to see Peter  
walking from the light switch.  
  
"Do you have many?" Sarah asked as she peered into an empty stall. Rubber  
stallmats were all that remained, for it had been meticulously mucked out since the last  
resident.  
  
Peter shook his head and motioned towards the end of the stable. A light, that had  
been on prior to the bulbs above the aisle, shone brilliantly down there, inside the stall.   
Within could be heard the casual movement and shaking of a horse, and its black mane  
and tail momentarily flipped into view.  
  
"I never really became as infatuated with them as my father. This one was his,"  
Peter remarked, his eyes suddenly darkening at the mention of his father. Sarah did not  
inquire as to the hostile feelings, but instead approached the now interested steed.  
  
She reached her hand through the cool metal bars and extended it to allow the  
animal to smell her. It lifted its noble head, eyeing the guest warily and then drooped back  
down to Sarah's open palm. The muscular horse allowed a warm breath to pass over her  
skin, sending giggles bubbling forth as it tickled across her arm.   
  
"I think he likes you," Peter whispered into her ear and then turned to walk  
towards the many other stalls that were, apparently, empty.  
  
Sarah remained a moment longer, gazing at the black glistening horse. She rubbed  
her hand across his firm neck, loving the feel as his skin rippled beneath her touch. She  
threaded her fingers through the long mane, which drifted lazily in the filtering breeze. He  
was such a magnificent animal, something that appeared so very out of place in Fontridge.   
Sarah withdrew her hand and backed away from the proud horse.  
  
At once the animal balked and jumped back, casting wary glances towards Sarah  
as it showed the whites of his eye. Sarah watched, horrified that she had caused this  
demonstration of fright. However, warm hands fell on her shoulders and she instantly  
spun about to look at Peter's understanding gaze.  
  
"He has never adjusted since my father's disappearance," Peter explained, and then  
slipped an arm about Sarah's shoulders to guide her from the stable and the snorting  
horse.  
  
Sarah glanced back once more as Peter turned off the lights, bathing most of the  
stable in darkness. Still the light over the lone horse's stall remained burning brightly, and  
cast its illumination upon the shining black coat. The steed raised its head one last time,  
and almost appeared to fix Sarah with his gaze.   
  
Peter shut the sliding door, snapping Sarah's connection with the wild, black horse  
instantly. She bit her lip and then forced any strange thoughts from her mind, determined  
to enjoy the day to its fullest. After all, she had been having such a splendid time.  
  
"It's so lovely," Sarah remarked, breaking from Peter as she spoke and spun about  
beneath a tall, ancient tree.  
  
"You already said that," Peter joked as he watched her spin about, hair flying as a  
copper banner around her.  
  
Sarah stopped, smirking with a sarcastic air of annoyance. However she broke  
into a fit of laughter the next instant and then rushed around the corner, merely happy to  
be alive, and able to enjoy the positively lovely day. She regretted the time spent indoors,  
wishing that all practices could be held out here, on the grounds, and next to the old  
woods.  
  
She stopped as thoughts of the wood broke into her daydream outing. She looked  
over to the tall trees, their boughs heavy with green leaves which formed a thick canopy.   
One could scarcely see a foot into the forest, for the undergrowth was all too overgrown  
and most of the sunlight was blocked by the trees.  
  
"Did you ever go into the woods as a child?" Sarah questioned as she walked to  
the tall fence lining all of Fontridge. The fence that appeared to keep the forest from  
invading the finely manicured lawns and gardens.  
  
Peter was silent behind her and she had to turn around just to be sure that he had  
not left her there alone. He was, however, still there, just strangely upset at her line of  
questions. He shrugged a bit and then continued, hands in pockets, back towards the  
house.   
  
Sarah remained a moment longer, feeling such a powerful draw to the forest that it  
nearly hurt her to turn away. Still, she knew very little about this place, and could very  
easily become lost. It was best to wait until a proper guide could bring her in there.   
Woods always held such a strong magical feeling in their old wisdom.  
  
"Did I say something wrong, Peter? I didn't mean to," Sarah remarked casually as  
she caught up with her host.  
  
He merely shook his head, still wordless. Oddly silent, though she had not known  
him very long, he had still seemed like one who did not suffer from lack of things to say.   
They had had quite a pleasant conversation before the mention of the stable and the  
woods. Sarah silently hoped that she had not brought up any painful subjects.  
  
She continued with him, in silence, for a brief time longer. Yet, the mood became  
far too dark, and she found that she could no longer take it. Sarah stopped, and waited  
until Peter followed suite, and then glanced back at her, to see what the hold up was  
about.   
  
"It's nothing, Sarah. The group will be waiting for us, is all. They'll want the  
latest sections for the play," Peter reminded, allowing a pleasant smile to pass over his  
handsome features, emerald eyes glimmering in the light from the sun.  
  
Sarah sighed, and glanced about once more, then turned towards Peter. Her  
expression became positively pitiful as she silently begged to be let off of the restricting  
leash which bound her to the mansion, and allowed to wander. Nonetheless, despite how  
much she yearned to be outside, duty did call.  
  
"Thank you, Peter, for doing this," Sarah remarked as she joined him at his side.  
  
Peter merely shrugged, and reached out with his hands to rub them over her arms.   
Sarah allowed a fleeting smile to snake over her lips, and then quickly sobered to the  
situation. It took quite a lot to allow herself back into the real world, after so much time  
spent in fantasy. It was even more difficult to become accustomed to such things as  
emotions that seemed to make sense. Her feelings with Peter were a perfect example of  
such an instance.  
  
He caught her hands in his own and pulled her nearer to himself. Then, without  
warning, he kissed her, and once again, she allowed it. Sarah closed her brightened eyes,  
adoring the feel of reality, of life in general, and the knowledge that there was someone  
else who cared for her.  
  
"Shall we?" he asked as he broke from their kiss.  
  
Sarah cleared her throat, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her words suddenly dried  
up. She did, however, manage a slight nod of her head in response, and followed mutely  
beside Peter, her deep brown eyes casting several brief glances towards the man who she  
still struggled to figure out.  
  
Sarah could understand the other actors easily, seeing most as being hungry for  
work and money... hence their coming to Fontridge to perform in a play which,  
unfortunately, did not seem as if it would show to a large audience. She knew why she  
had come, but simply was not able to see why Peter had brought this all together.  
  
She yearned to ask, but feared that his reaction would be one that was hurt. After  
all, hadn't Gabrielle told her that Peter did not speak about the play? Sarah was not about  
to ruin something that felt so very right, as what she was experiencing between herself and  
Peter, over some stupid curiosity.   
  
"They you two are!" a bubbling voice proclaimed and Sarah instantly turned her  
eyes upwards, so as to see who had addressed them.  
  
Gabrielle stood, hands on hips and a mock stern appearance taken over her  
features. Her auburn hair literally flamed in the sunny rays, making her appear as a  
goddess, standing in the midst of nature. Sarah laughed a bit at her interpretation of the  
scenery and watched as Gabby joined in on the gaiety.  
  
"Peter invited to take me on a walk, which seemed far more interesting than  
work," Sarah remarked and continued to laugh at the look of shock Peter portrayed at her  
joke.  
  
Gabby joined in their pace back towards the mansion, and gently elbowed Sarah in  
her side. Sarah turned towards her friend and noticed the many questions dancing about  
in Gabrielle's mischievous mind. Sarah rolled her eyes and then silenced her friend with a  
quiet hush.  
  
"After you, ladies," Peter remarked as he paused momentarily at the still-open  
mansion door.  
  
Sarah and Gabby curtsied slightly, and then burst into another gale of laughter. It  
felt refreshing to be free, happy, not fearful that a certain fantasy king would happen out  
of nowhere. It seemed as if Sarah's existence had, at last, straightened itself out, and she  
could now allow herself to cast aside her past into the abyss in which it belonged.  
  
Peter waited until both walked inside, and then followed, closing the door behind  
himself.  
  



	8. Those Hidden, Dark Fantasies

Chapter Eight: Those Hidden, Dark Fantasies  
  
The two leaned up against the smooth wooden walls, gazing upwards, and  
wondering how they would manage to cover all those stairs. A path that had seemed easy  
any other day, now appeared a straining treck up a horrendous mountain of obstacles.   
Gabrielle brushed a hand across her forehead and allowed a sigh to escape her lips.  
  
"I'm so sore. I never thought that I had some of the muscles I managed to pull,"  
she moaned as she dared another step closer to the second floor.  
  
Sarah rubbed at her shoulder, cringing at the dull pain from the tightened muscle.   
Still, strenuous work was better than nothing, especially better than the horrid alternative  
of quitting. She simply shivered at the thought and managed to follow Gabby upwards a  
few more strides before her calves screamed to stop again.  
  
Surprisingly her sutured lacerations had offered little, if not any trouble at all. She  
had nearly convinced herself that they were gone, when noticing the gauzy bandages upon  
rolling up her sleeves. Sarah had quickly pulled the cover back over her wounds, having  
felt self-conscious about the rumors which surrounded the cuts.   
  
"I thought they hired a backstage crew for stuff like this," Sarah complained.  
  
Gabby scoffed at such an idea. Crews were for the more elite productions. Peter  
had simply wanted a play and actors, but had given no thought about who would put the  
background together, help with make-up, even quick changes between acts would be more  
difficult without more assistance. It was quite a haphazard performance.  
  
"I wish. You've only just begun to experience the strains of this weekly chore.   
Building the damn set!" Gabrielle stated and then struggled the rest of the way up the  
steep staircase, gripping the railing for extra support.  
  
"Yeah, great," Sarah replied, taking a deep breath as she managed to follow her  
friend, walking a bit slower than Gabby had.  
  
They continued on in silence, for as Gabrielle had mentioned earlier, they were the  
only residents on that particular wing of the mansion. They passed by Gabby's room,  
without a side glance, and flung open the broad door leading into Sarah's chambers. Both  
nearly collapsed, but managed to fall into the velveteen chairs just within the doorway.  
  
Sarah laid her head back, against the softness of the lovely chair and allowed  
herself to enjoy the rest. Night had already fallen, meaning that they had worked for  
nearly six hours, nailing and hammering, and pulling, pushing, lifting, dropping, running,  
nearly everything that the body could sustain, they had done during the day.  
  
"Have you been feeling better?" Gabrielle questioned, suddenly breaking the silent  
atmosphere that had surrounded them.  
  
Sarah balked at the question, finding herself unable to answer. She had been  
feeling perfect, in top condition for the first time in a long time. Though, if she said that,  
would Gabby merely believe that it was stated for the means to cover something else that  
was hidden deeper? Sarah nodded briefly, forgoing any response at the time.  
  
"It's just... you seemed happy today," the other girl finally explained, and then rose  
a bit to look at Sarah, "With Peter that is."  
  
Sarah smiled briefly, at last understanding what the reason was for this turn of the  
conversation. Gabby had been completely beside herself with thousands of undying  
questions about the stroll Sarah had taken with Peter in the early morning. Now, with  
only the two of them in company, the answers would be forced out, no matter what.  
  
"He's really nice," Sarah responded, carefully eluding the answers that Gabby  
wanted. A smile covered her face and she at last looked at her miffed friend.  
  
Gabrielle crossed her arms over her chest, a look of utter contempt scrawled  
across her generally friendly face. However, such a scornful appearance quickly dissipated  
and Gabby grabbed the arm of Sarah's chair for emphasis. She bared her teeth and then  
giggled a bit, despite her portrayal of anger.  
  
"And that means? Answers, Sarah, answers!" Gabby demanded.  
  
Sarah rose from the chair, her muscles throbbing relentlessly from the manual  
labor, but still she wished to draw out the wait a while longer. She fell atop her downy  
bed, her mass of brunette hair framing her pale skin as if a halo. Gabrielle, on the other  
hand, remained seated, but still persistent about her interrogation.  
  
"What sort of answers do you want, Gabby?" Sarah retorted and glanced towards  
her angered friend with another playful grin.  
  
Gabby fixed Sarah with an icy glare and she straightened her mouth into a thin line.   
This time there was no laughter to go along with the seriousness. Sarah relented at last,  
understanding that there was a point when one could go too far with teasing. She sighed  
deeply and uttered a lovestruck moan.  
  
"I don't know what to say about him. Peter is just, sweet, kind, gentle, caring. I  
never thought that anyone would think about me the way he does. Not after...," Sarah  
promptly cut herself off. She had come to close to mentioning the Labyrinth, and the king  
who had briefly won over her young heart.  
  
"After?" Gabrielle prodded, but noted Sarah's broken expression and promptly  
ceased her questioning.  
  
Even after all she had been through, thoughts of Jareth produced such an array of  
emotions that Sarah found herself unable to handle or understand. His taunting,  
overpowering demeanor was the figment of her most painful nightmares, while the Goblin  
King inhabited her most...dark dreams. Sarah found that she could not forget him, nor  
cease lustful feelings which arose in her soul.  
  
Then there was Peter, whom made her feel wonderful and normal again. There  
were, however, the mild occurances of odd mannerisms, that Sarah merely overlooked,  
taking them to be such minute flaws in his entire personality, that they deserved little  
concern. He was, after all, kind, understanding, real! Although, Jareth was very real as  
well. Sarah shivered at the thought of him and forced such images from her mind. She  
finally was in a healthy relationship, and found herself recalling a Goblin King?! Sarah  
could have easily slapped herself at the thought.  
  
"I mean, since what happened to me when I got here," Sarah quickly recovered,  
averting the attention from her flustered appearance.  
  
Gabrielle remained silent for a short time, fiddling with the corner of a knit blanket,  
which draped across the back of the velveteen chair. She straightened it, folded it, and  
then fixed it once more, then at last turned to look at her friend. Gabby was obviously still  
very interested in what had gone on between Sarah and Peter.  
  
"So...?" Gabby urged Sarah to continued on with the juicy details.  
  
"He's great, Gabrielle, what else is there to know?" Sarah inquired, now realizing  
just how sleepy she actually was.  
  
Gabrielle rose from the chair, yawning and stretching in the process. The work  
had been quite grueling, and only after resting did the sleepiness hit full force. Sarah was  
granted with an easy way out of the endless questions, offered another day to figure out  
some more acceptable answers. She managed a small smile directed towards her friend as  
she thought about the tales she could form.  
  
"You'll tell me tomorrow, right?" Gabby demanded, placing her hands firmly on  
the edge of the comfortable bed.  
  
Sarah nodded and then crossed her heart with her index finger. Her expression  
portrayed entire innocence to an extreme, and Gabby threw her hands up in mock  
frustration. However, both soon allowed exhausted laughter to break apart their phony  
acts.   
  
Gabrielle grabbed hold of one of the many pillows which adorned Sarah's large  
bed and tossed it playfully on her friend's face. Sarah threw it back towards Gabby, but  
missed by quite a distance. She was far too tired to try hard enough to hit anything.  
  
"See you tomorrow then, Sarah. Sleep well," Gabrielle called as she walked out  
the door, shutting it gently behind herself.  
  
"Night!" Sarah called back, though the door had already been closed between the  
two of them.  
  
She was certain that Gabby had heard, and so contented herself to ponder what  
had entered her mind a bit earlier. It was dangerous, she knew, to think about a certain  
King, but it was something that had to be done. Sarah could not make him disappear, for  
Jareth seemed to be overly prevalent in her life, even with the recent move to England.  
  
There would always be a small part of her that longed for the fantasy of the  
Underground, and all that Jareth offered. He was utterly breathtaking, suave, a king, just  
like a prince charming from a storybook. However, the similarities ended there, and his  
contrasting personality (of cruelty and passionate romanticism) took control.   
  
With the sudden appearance of Jareth out of her dreams, she was forced to face  
him and his strange alluring qualities. The only difference was the fact that she had Peter,  
a man whom she was beginning to almost love, and was no longer a coy, naive teen. She  
had priorities, and could not be tempted by the magic that Jareth had to offer.  
  
"Then why is it so hard to convince yourself that you no longer want him?" Sarah  
asked herself.  
  
She rolled on her side, gazing forlornly towards the window. That was where he  
had tried to kill her. Jareth had thrown the shards of glass at her fragile body, merely to  
evoke those memories of nights spent under supervision constantly. The time when she  
had been coded and carefully filed away under patient records, one of thousands of others.   
It was then, in the dark, with the red glow of the call button shining against her closed  
eyelid, and the constant whir of a video camera overhead, combined with the restraints  
which were not fastened, but present nonetheless, when she thought about suicide most  
often, and about him as well.  
  
Every passing moment spent at night, unable to sleep nor relax, had been  
consumed with thoughts about Jareth. His presence leaked into her mind as if some all  
possessing potion. She recalled his demeanor, his handsome looks, the way her heart had  
skipped upon first seeing him and realizing just what she had gotten herself into. All of  
that made up her past, and one that would not remain where it was supposed to.  
  
Sarah, at last, forced herself out of her thoughts and rolled on to her back. If she  
ever was going to sleep, then it was high time she turned off the lights and ceased the  
infernal thoughts about her dismal past. Hadn't that been the major lesson learned in the  
hospital? Not to dwell on things better left alone!  
  
Sarah rose to a sitting position and then quickly crossed to the other side of the  
room. Once there, she paused before switching off the lights and bathing the room in  
complete darkness. Then, she promptly switched it off and gazed into the inky night.  
  
"Why must you confuse me so, Jareth, even when you are not here," Sarah  
whispered as she turned towards her dresser.  
  
Of course, there was no answer and she pulled out her heavy sweats with a  
deepened sigh. Even during the night, when things were so dark, and there was no one to  
be seen, she could feel eyes on her back. Sarah shivered following the horrid thought, still  
able to feel that awful sensation of being watched, and stripped off her dirtied work  
clothes.  
  
She pulled back her hair, feeling entirely helpless without her clothing. Sarah  
shook the paranoid thoughts from her mind and straightened her sweatshirt. It was then,  
as she began to pull the warm cloth over her arms, that she felt a presence behind her.   
Hands, or at least a sensation resembling hands, graced the tender flesh around her neck,  
sending goosebumps all up and down her spine.  
  
Sarah spun around, clutching the sweatshirt over her chest, so as to hide her  
obvious lack of clothing. However, there was nothing to be seen. Her breath came in  
short gasps, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. She scanned the bedroom, her warm  
brown eyes focusing intently on shadowed corners, which seemed a perfect place to hide.  
  
Still, there was nothing, and Sarah shook her head, feeling the creeping flesh about  
her back from the icy touch. She shivered instinctively and quickly pulled the sweatshirt  
on. She looked around once more, just to be certain that nothing had sneaked out while  
she had clothed herself, and then carefully tip-toed her way to her bed.  
  
Sarah silently slipped beneath the covers, adoring the silken texture along her  
hands, and rested her drowsy body against the cradling mattress and pillows. It was like  
sleeping on a cloud, and shortly all her fears and anxieties had dissipated into nothingness.  
  
She slept, drifting into a realm rich with dreams, those created by darkened areas  
of her hidden fantasies. And dark fantasies came in abundance...  



	9. Desires of the Flesh

Chapter Nine: Desires of the Flesh  
  
Rough, restricting ropes. That was the first sensation that drifted to her mind  
when she allowed her eyes to finally open. Obviously she was still in her bed, though it  
felt quite different. She could easily feel the silken sheets beneath her bare back, but that  
did not explain her immobile legs and arms.  
  
Sarah fluttered her eyes a bit, trying to force them to adjust to the sudden invasion  
of harsh sunlight. She had not remembered the day being so bright. In fact, if her memory  
served her, the sky had been quite overcast and foggy during the previous evening, not to  
mention it being dark as pitch when she had at last found her way into the comfortable  
bed.   
  
She craned her head to the left, but saw only a wall and the side of the massive  
bed. To the right, the rest of her room, lacking only her suitcase, which had been leaning  
against her dresser since she had arrived. Now it was nowhere to be seen. Sarah decided,  
however, that it could very well have been placed elsewhere, and by anybody.  
  
She struggled to raise up, and see what else had changed while she slept.   
However, despite her valiant efforts, Sarah only succeeded in scratchy her wrists, rather  
painfully at that. The wounds that had only recently been stitched throbbed relentlessly,  
and she knew at once that warm blood had begun to ooze once again, staining the fresh  
bandages.  
  
"Hello?" she called, though her voice was raspy and weak, far different from the  
powerful thing it normally was.  
  
There was no answer, and she was at once able to understand just how eerily quiet  
the mansion was. There was absolutely no movement coming from any room, floor, or  
even outside. It felt as if she had been placed into a bubble, far from her own kind. Sarah  
shivered and struggled with her feet, leaving her pained wrists to lie limp.  
  
She at last relented, and rested her fatigued body. She was not as strong as she  
once had been, through the course of the debilitating day prior. Once again she looked  
around, but found nothing that would inform her of something wrong. Her eyes turned to  
her feet, and she could barely see the thick ropes, if she strained her neck upwards and  
lifted only enough so as not to put pressure against the reinjured wounds on her wrists.  
  
Her eyes widened as a sudden realization stole over her. She was not clothed as  
she had been upon cuddling down into the warm bed. In fact, Sarah doubted that she had  
ever owned anything like what she now saw on her body. She squirmed again, but this  
time embarrassment and modesty drove her actions.  
  
She wore a silken shift, of sorts. It plunged low, dangerously low in the back, for  
as she had previously noted, she could feel the silken sheets beneath her, against bare  
flesh. In the front, the neckline was not any more comforting. It scooped quite a distance   
and ended in an intricate network of lacing that made a peek-a-boo streak down to her  
belly, only barely avoiding certain other areas.   
  
It rested against her thighs, extremely short for her taste. In fact, the entire  
ensemble was uncomfortable, and she could only hope that someone would come to help  
her soon. Yet, she had begun to believe that perhaps she could be in some trouble,  
considering that she was tied, and clothed quite differently from when she last  
remembered.  
  
Sarah bit her quivering lip against the tears and shrieks of help that threatened to  
break free. Still, she could not help but sob, and soon did not care if anyone heard or not.   
She simply could not stand to be left alone any longer, wondering what would happen to  
her, and when it would occur.   
  
"Where is my king?" a young, frightened voice asked within her mind.  
  
Sarah herself was perhaps the most startled at the appearance of such a question,  
and coming from herself. Though it had felt quite detached when she heard it, or rather  
thought it. She was not even sure to whom she was referring. Certainly the inquiry had  
nothing to do with Jareth!  
  
"Such terrible dreams, for such innocence," a silken voice purred from nearby.  
  
Sarah blinked away the blurring tears and turned to see who had entered, and if  
they were friend or foe. At once her spirits brightened. Leaning against the bed post, with  
his arms crossed over his chest, was Peter. A tender smile rested on his lips as he looked  
down at her. The next instant the smile faded to nothing, only seriousness and a strange  
dancing light hidden in his eyes.  
  
"Peter?" Sarah asked carefully, pulling against the ropes that bound her ankles so  
that he might see what sort of predicament she was in.  
  
At that he did turn his gaze to her, and the ropes that kept her to the bed. His gaze  
snaked over her legs, to the shocking lingerie, and finally graced her enough to meet her  
eyes. Sarah was utterly horrified and narrowed her eyes in anger.  
  
"Anger, my dear? I thought you had enjoyed our relations earlier," Peter remarked  
as he strolled casually nearer to her, all the while catching passing glimpses of revealed  
flesh.  
  
Sarah lost her thoughts of pain that would be inflicted upon her old injuries, should  
she move, and fought against the constraints. She raged in anger and hate, yanking  
violently forward so as to strike at this man who had played her. She kicked at him,  
growling as if a wild animal ready to attack once it broke free from the cage.   
  
"How dare you!? Let me out, now! Bastard!! Peter, untie me!" Sarah yelled, all  
the while flailing against the ropes.  
  
Peter merely laughed. His tawny hair flipping back, as if caught in a breeze, one  
that was not present. His features took on such an air of evil, one that she was surprised  
she had not noticed earlier. Sarah stopped her struggles and breathed deeply, finally  
feeling the hot searing agony that ripped through her arms. She cried in pain and blinked  
her eyes against the tears that began to flow once more.  
  
"Say your right words," Peter whispered, his mouth so close to her ear.  
  
Sarah snapped her cold stare towards him and bit at his face. Yet, he had the  
reflexes of a cat, and quickly pulled away. His laughter flared into such that rivaled  
insanity. Sarah allowed herself a single deep breath and then forced the words to come in  
all the power with which she had yearned to beat this man whom she had dared to  
consider a friend.  
  
"You have no power over me!" she exclaimed, and at once the room filled with  
brilliant white light.  
  
The illumination soothed her wounds, those newly formed from the harsh abrasive  
rope, and the deepening gashes in her inflamed wrists. Sarah laid her head back on the  
pillow and closed her burning eyes. Though the light felt so very delicious, it pained her  
poor eyes to gaze at the whiteness for too great a time. She was happy to merely allow  
the delicate licks of sweetness to calm her nerves and tend to her injuries.  
  
All too soon the sensation faded. Though she could still feel something, some  
tender touch along her cheek. It was so very soft, velveteen almost, and almost forced  
Sarah to think that the light had decided to focus on one stray spot. However, she knew  
better than to believe that fantasy.  
  
She snapped open her eyes and at once was met with a intense gaze, cold as ice  
and warm as molten fire. Both eyes, though so entirely different in hue, shone with a  
strange mysterious magic that burned throughout the entire being that now looked at her.   
Sarah shivered, and at once realized that she remained in the same scant nightgarment she  
had earlier noticed.  
  
"How dare you infest my life again!" Sarah spat viscously, attempting in vain to  
break free from the ever restricting ropes.  
  
Jareth allowed a sly grin to pass over his features as he listened to her threatening  
voice. Yet, it was hard to not catch the slightest hint of a hitch in her anger. Just as his  
hand graced her bare flesh, running a finger across her arm, she stopped and gasped. He  
withdrew from her side and strode quickly into the center of the room. His cream-colored  
blousy sleeves rippled in a sudden breeze, gusting through the open window.  
  
Jareth spun about on his heels and fixed Sarah with a cold glare. Still her face was  
flushed from the sense of being clothed in such a bare minimal amount of material, while  
the Goblin King remained near at hand. His eyes wandered only briefly to enjoy the sight,  
and then returned to meet her, now angered face.  
  
"Beauty such as yours should never be taken from this world, sweet Sarah. Why  
choose such an abrupt end to this interesting existence?" Jareth questioned, entirely  
ignoring what had been said previously to him.  
  
Sarah struggled a bit against the ropes, finding them crafted from the finest velvet.   
It caressed her, causing traces of gooseflesh to form over already enticed flesh. Her heart  
beat quickened and her breathing deepened, despite what her mind told her. Her body  
was helpless to feel these needs, these wants.  
  
"What have you done to Peter?" she asked, though her voice lacked any true  
conviction.  
  
Jareth shrugged in response. He never intended to answer such a useless question.   
It was obvious that Sarah felt no true deep feeling for the normal man. After all, who  
stood a chance when compared to Jareth, the Goblin King himself? Certainly not some  
half-witted writer/ eccentric millionaire.  
  
"Why the concern? Surely you don't believe this interest you have found in him,  
love?" Jareth's voice rose in a questioning form.  
  
Sarah bit back any foul remarks that rose to her mind. She reminded herself that  
control had topped the Goblin King before, and she could easily best him again, even  
when she was forced to do so in an entirely suggestive position. She knew that her  
appearance had had an effect on Jareth as well, for she could see his anxiousness to be rid  
of the pointless conversation surrounding Peter and on to more 'interesting' topics.  
  
"Jealous, Goblin King?" Sarah inquired, pouting her lips to mock his juvenile  
behavior.  
  
Jareth merely smirked at her insult and took a single, agonizingly slow step  
forward, and closer to the bed. His eyes deepened in their wild natures, as if a storm of  
mass proportions grew and raged on in both. Waves churned within unruly sapphire  
depths, while flashes of lightening and crackling fire remained sealed in the other.  
  
"Perhaps you have merely searched out some man to throw those pent-up  
emotions upon. How long has it been Sarah, since you have felt the skipping beats of  
your heart, as lips search out your own?" Jareth asked, his voice lowering to a truly  
intoxicating level, that swept across her skin as gently as the light had done moments  
earlier.  
  
She swallowed, afraid of what would follow. If Jareth had pounced at that  
moment, she would not have fought a bit. Instead she would have welcomed the feel of  
his heartbeat racing along against hers, and his lips, hungering for passion, tracing lines of  
fire across her face. The image that came to mind nearly drove her mad and she forced  
herself to throw it aside and focus on the predicament in which she currently found herself.  
  
Jareth stopped, only a single step from the bedside. She looked at him, her eyes  
noting certain subtleties that had since then gone unnoticed. Sarah watched his golden  
luxurious mane of hair, as if it were a tropical liquid flowing about his ethereal face. He  
wore only a simple poet's shirt and tight pants that crafted to the form of his legs. She  
could not strain her eyes enough to see, but decided that he probably wore the usual  
boots, that reached nearly to his knee.  
  
"When have you ever allowed desire to dictate your life, to throw everything away  
for one heated night of fantasies? Whom has been allowed to touch that tender skin,  
caresses that drive one from their mind? When Sarah, when have you given into the  
desires of the flesh?" Jareth asked, punctuating each question by bending nearer to her.  
  
With the final pounding inquiry he dropped to his knees beside the bed and ran his  
hands across her bare arms. Sarah gasped, unable to control anything, even her mind. His  
words had impacted her as he had known they would all along. Still she could hear his  
accented voice, asking about such personal things, and causing such a delicious and  
overwhelming need to show its presence in her soul.  
  
He smiled and leaned in, quickly so as to act upon impulse. Jareth's lips fit against  
hers, parting them with the deft touch of his tongue, so as to deepen their intensity.   
Everywhere a sense of hunger for once allowed to rage freely in Sarah's system, exploded  
into the open. She returned his kisses, begging for more, for him to cease the toying way  
he insisted on treating her, and fulfill her darkest dreams.  
  
With skills of one trained in such arts of lust, he rose to his feet, never once  
removing his intoxicating lips from hers. One hand, now free from the gloves he had  
previously worn, traced a path down her arm, and over the once new bandages, to where  
the silken ropes held her in place. In a single magical second she found herself free, and  
instantly wrapped her arms around his body, that had leaned over her.  
  
He moved again with the subtleties and fluid air of a cat. In a instant he was atop  
her, deepening the kisses and stroking her face, down her arm, and over her waist. Sarah  
plunged her hands into his hair, adoring the silken feel that caressed her so tenderly. Her  
stomach twisted and turned, and burned with a strange, almost sick sensation, that would  
continue until they had fulfilled these needs of lust.  
  
His other hand, coursing with unbridles magic, touched her thigh, only just below  
where her garment ended. A strange giddiness rose in her depths of her stomach, and she  
urged Jareth to continue, to do what he so pleased. She no longer cared what hell he had  
put her in, and then what she would now allow him to have.  
  
He stopped, his palm resting so sickeningly close to infinite pleasure. However, he  
could go no further. With great strength Jareth rose away from her, noting her broken  
and troubled look. She yearned for this, almost as much as him, but this was not the way,  
not in such falsehoods as a fantasy.  
  
"Why must you torture me with these dreams that are crafted by that part of you  
who wishes for this to occur? I know that, should I come to you, there would be no  
chance. Leave this place, Sarah, and decide what you wish from me, at least grant me  
that," Jareth whispered, so close to her ear.  
  
He then backed away, Sarah watching from her statue-like position, save her  
hitching chest trying in desperation to catch her breath. She did not understand him in the  
least, but knew that something was not right. Something was different that she had not  
noticed earlier.  
  
Jareth simply faded away, as if floating off into the thin air. She watched, eyes  
widened in shock at his sudden disappearance. With his absence, entered a nearly  
forgotten sound, that of a woman sobbing somewhere in the distance. Sarah recalled the  
first dream, upon the plane, where she had heard that crying for such a long duration. She  
rose to a sitting position and looked about, but saw only a slight silver glimmer from  
behind the blowing curtain.  
  
Then, the entire room seemed fade the same as Jareth. Soon there was nothing to  
see, nor was there anything to experience. She was held by the weaves of black night, and  
so allowed her mind to be at ease.  
  
There were no more dreams that night.  



	10. Damaged and Broken

Chapter Ten: Damaged and Broken  
  
Sarah opened her eyes slowly, feeling almost worse than she had before drifting off  
to sleep. Of course her body was at last rested, but her mind was still ill at ease. In  
addition to everything, the excess work she had participated in the day prior made her only  
that much more groggy.   
  
Her last memory had been of those cold hands across her bare skin, and then  
wakening to experience that dream. Her entire body shuddered at the thought of the  
lustful fantasy, and Jareth as the man who had started the electricity in her soul.  
  
"How dare he force these things upon me, attacking my mind!" Sarah exclaimed,  
throwing the blankets aside in a fit of anger.  
  
Her gaze immediately turned to acknowledge the fact that she was not clothed as  
she had been in the nightmare. Rather she was dressed modestly, as she always was, and  
had been when preparing for sleep the previous night. Sarah touched the warm gray  
sweats, as if to assure herself that they were in fact real. In her mind, the gentle rustling  
caress of the silken lingerie, forced another shiver down her spine.  
  
A series of knocks upon her door broke apart the reverie. It was just as well, for  
Sarah felt nearly sick thinking about what she had wished Jareth to do in her nightmare.   
She raised herself to a sitting position and pasted a friendly smile upon her rather paled  
face. However, to let the truth be told, she still felt remarkably better, only a touch  
confused about.... everything.  
  
"Come in," Sarah called in a pleasant voice.  
  
The door swung open, without a creak. Obviously someone took great care to  
keep such unwanted creaks out of the old doors. Peter gazed in on her and immediately  
greeted her with a delighted smile. However, Sarah could not help but falter a bit in her  
personality. Memories of horrid things that he had done in her dream drifted over her,  
threatening and trying to prove that it had all been true. She knew better, in her heart, that  
Peter would not be such a beast, and that the entire act had been directed by Jareth, using  
the dream as his stage and the image of Peter as a puppet.  
  
Peter offered to her a bound package of paper, secured with a crimson velvet  
ribbon. He had obviously taken great pride in presenting the present to her in proper  
form. Otherwise, she believed he would have merely allowed another person to deliver it,  
lacking any extra pleasantries.  
  
"I brought you a gift, milady," he chided, dropping into a mock bow before Sarah.  
  
She stifled a laugh and then snatched the present from his hands. Gifts always had  
a way of cheering her up. She undid the ribbon, and at once realized what he had brought  
her. It was the beginning of the script, as well as what had been written over the past two  
nights. She flipped through a few pages, allowing the scent of fresh paper and dried ink to  
brush past her face.  
  
"Thank you, Peter. I've been curious about this ever since arriving," Sarah stated,  
allowing the script to close again.  
  
Peter leaned in, perhaps to kiss her. However, the image of the dream, and the  
way he had leered at her near naked body, suddenly drifted over her eyes. Sarah dropped  
her face, so that he was left looking only at the side of her head. Peter paused and cleared  
his throat, quite taken aback at Sarah's sudden coldness towards his emotions.  
  
He sat promptly upon the bed, gazing at Sarah with a certain seriousness. She  
knew what was coming, and longed to wait until later in the day to have this conversation  
with Peter. It was obvious, however, that he was determined to place his feelings in the  
open, where she could either accept them, or deny them.   
  
"What happened? Yesterday I thought that you felt the same," Peter tried, but  
words failed him.  
  
Sarah tapped the script nervously with her fingernails and then ran her hands over  
the bandages. They had bled during the night, leaving horrid red stains over the white  
gauze. She could not look at him, which would only confuse Peter more. Sarah wished  
that the horrid dream had never come, and that she had never been so frightened of his  
tenderness by it.  
  
"I'm not sure of anything anymore," Sarah whispered, though she knew it was not  
an answer in the least.  
  
She heard Peter sigh, and knew very well that what he had offered her, was now  
hopelessly damaged. She had broken him, had hurt him without a single thought. Sarah  
finally turned her eyes to look at him, and found Peter gazing at her intently. He reached  
out and took her hand into his own.  
  
"I understand that you've been through a lot, Sarah. I want to help, but you have  
to let me in. Why must you remain so detached?" Peter asked, his emerald eyes deep and  
pleading for another chance at a relationship.  
  
Sarah bit her lip, trying with all her might to remember how it had felt when Peter  
had kissed her. She remembered feeling something, some strange happiness that had since  
then been hidden within her broken soul. She could recall a longing for human touches,  
for love, but had it all been directed towards this man? She wasn't even certain of her  
own feelings at that moment.  
  
"I'm not ready for this," Sarah stated shortly and withdrew her hand from his  
grasp.  
  
Peter nodded ever so slowly and then stood from the bed. He was crushed, and  
that was evident in every aspect of his features. Sarah watched him back away, trying to  
say something, anything, that could perhaps lighten the entire conversation and offer him a  
bit of hope at the same time. There was nothing she could do to make it better.  
  
"If you need to talk, Sarah, I'll be here," he remarked with a sigh, and then walked  
through the door, closing it behind himself.  
  
She remained seated atop the bed for a few scant moments, yet her stomach  
growled angrily at her. All the work that they had undertaken the day prior had caused  
the intense hunger. Of course, that sort of labor usually burned calories, hence the need  
for sustenance.  
  
Sarah took the script carefully in hand, determined to find out which part was hers,  
and to learn her lines better than anyone else. However, before she could even begin to  
study, she would have to satiate her hunger, for her stomach was quite angry. Sarah rose  
from the bed and, grabbing a brush from the dresser, rushed out her door.  
  
She ran the silver-accented brush through her snarled hair, wincing as it caught  
time and again. The soft bristles almost worked as a massage for her scalp, dulling the  
pain that was caused from her roughly yanked hairs.   
  
Sarah paused at a door, only slightly down the hall from herself, that stood open.   
She easily remembered what Gabrielle had said, about her room being the only other  
occupied in this section. It was obvious that someone was in there, for the orange glow of  
a lamp filtered out the opened door.  
  
"Gabrielle!" Sarah exclaimed, throwing the door wide open and offering her friend  
a large cheerful smile.  
  
Yet, she had made a mistake. A young woman, with shimmering chestnut hair,  
and eyes like molten chestnut, turned to look at Sarah. Trails of tears rushed down her  
cheeks, to land on her already dampened dress. The lovely silken ballgown was a lovely  
hue of palest cornflower blue, save the single growing area of darkened sapphire, due to  
the flow of tears. She was not shocked to see Sarah in this room, but only acknowledged  
her with several hitched sobs and those eternally heartbroken eyes.  
  
Sarah nearly gasped at the sight of the woman, for at first glance one could easily  
mistake the two. If it was not for Sarah's slightly more refined, older features, she would  
have believed that this person was her twin. She stood for a minute in silence, before  
gathering her wits back together.  
  
"Excuse me. I-I'm so sorry for barging in like this. You must think me terribly  
rude," Sarah stammered, backing away to make her quick escape from the crying woman.  
  
The strange pale girl rose from the bed, with grace that burst from her every  
movement. She clutched a pristine white handkerchief in trembling delicate hands, forever  
ringing it with her grief. She walked to Sarah, staring deep into her eyes, as if searching  
for something that no one else could see.  
  
"You are so broken inside," the mysterious guest stated, taking Sarah quite by  
surprise.  
  
Sarah glanced behind herself, just to be sure that the door was still open to offer a  
quick get-a-way. She had not seen this woman anytime during her short stay at Fontridge,  
but she had not been looking very closely at the others. It was possible that this person  
had been ill, or maybe just blended into the crowd.  
  
The young woman reached out and grasped Sarah's forearm, coming dangerously  
close to the wounds on her wrists. She flipped it over and looked closely at the bloodied  
bandages. The girl touched the wounds softly and then turned her gaze back to Sarah,  
almost hurt to see such a thing. Embarrassed, Sarah withdrew her arm in one quick  
movement and hid the injuries from sight, behind her back and beneath the protective  
material of her sweats.  
  
"So hurt, so damaged, and nearly dead inside. The colors of youth have dulled to  
black within you," the somber woman replied, turning to walk to the French doors across  
the other side of the room.  
  
Sarah nearly left at that point, but found herself drawn to this woman, and all the  
mystery surrounding her. She needed to know why she was here, especially when  
Gabrielle had remarked about her room being the only other occupied in this hallway.   
Sarah instead walked further into the room, leaving the open door behind herself, just in  
case.  
  
"I don't understand," Sarah stated, waiting for the lady to turn and look at her  
once again.  
  
However, that was not meant to be. The strange woman merely threw open the  
glass doors and stepped out on the balcony, adoring the sun rays that fought through the  
light clouds that morning. Her hair glistened as if it where spun copper highlighted with  
golden accents, and her gown shone with the light of a thousand hues.   
  
Sarah waited in silence, feeling almost as black and damaged as the woman had  
said she was. After all, here was someone who was truly kind, for that was evident in her  
soul. After long lost, the lady spun around and offered a hand out to Sarah, so that she  
too would come out on the balcony.  
  
"Oh, I couldn't possibly. I have to go eat, and get to the script," Sarah stuttered,  
waving the hand that still held the silver-laden brush to emphasize her many points.  
  
Nonetheless, the mysterious guest continued to urge Sarah to come to her, though  
did so silently. Her hand, extended in a show of trust, was all that needed to be done.   
Sarah dared a single glance at the door and then walked towards the woman, never once  
hesitating.   
  
"I do really have to get going," Sarah said again, trying to get the woman to  
understand that she was very hungry.  
  
"Shh. Just look over there, past the rolling hills, and tops of ancient trees," she  
commanded, pointing one dainty finger in the general direction.  
  
Sarah did as she was told, but did not see a thing. She could easily observe the  
patchy grass, the cloudy sky, even the cows grazing in the far distance. However, there  
certainly was nothing out of the ordinary. She turned to look at the strange woman for an  
answer, or at least and explanation.  
  
Yet, she found that the room's resident had stepped back within the mansion, and  
off of the balcony. She had her thin arms wrapped about her body, as if she was cold.   
Sarah immediately rushed back inside, she herself feeling a bit of a chill, even through her  
baggy sweats. She stopped beside the woman and looked into her shattered expression.  
  
There was something about her, some strange feeling that Sarah recognized. It  
was almost as if they had met before in some point of time. Yet, there had not been a  
moment when Sarah could recall ever speaking, or even catching a scant glimpse of this  
person. Either way, she was perplexed.  
  
"There are ruins over there, far off past the pastures and the woods. I used to go  
there often, many times. You must go sometime, Sarah, and mend that shattered soul so  
that you might have your wings again, and fly home," the woman remarked, speaking in  
riddles.  
  
Sarah cleared her throat at that and began towards the open door. She was  
becoming slightly worried about her new 'friend', and what was wrong with her. Sarah  
turned around to pause at the door and then summoned up her courage. She was not  
going to be rude and just walk out without a single word.  
  
"Thank you for being kind, and caring about...," Sarah turned around and instantly  
stopped her flow of words.  
  
The room was entirely empty. Upon that startling sight, Sarah also realized that it  
laid in shambles. The wallpaper was blackened, as if it had sustained some flames, but just  
the appearance of the paper was shocking. The rest of Fontridge's walls were decorated  
simply by tapestries and paintings. The bed was without a mattress, and quite broken.   
The floor was completely bare and all other furniture that had since then been in the room,  
was gone. Even the French doors were broken, shattered glass left laying scattered over  
the floor. The drapes blowing in the wind, were tattered beyond repair.  
  
She opened her mouth, but no sound would come out. She was terrified, but  
unable to run. Sarah could only stand there, like a statue, horrified. At long last she  
shook her head, her chestnut locks streaming about her face as they caught the breeze  
drifting through the broken window. Still she could not utter a single sound.  
  
"Sarah!" a voice broke her stunned state.  
  
At once she twirled around and found herself only a few feet from Peter. His face  
was set with a serious frown, and his eyes burned with rage. Sarah only bit her lip,  
wondering if the way she had acted earlier had been the cause of his foul mood. However,  
he had not seemed so angry then. Peter had been only upset, and perhaps disappointed  
that things had not worked out.  
  
He grasped her by the arm and nearly flung her from the room. Sarah jerked  
herself away from him, now infuriated that he should treat her so poorly. She rubbed her  
soar arm and then turned her anger towards him.   
  
"How dare you..," she began, but was unable to finish.  
  
"I can do anything I wish. This is my home, and I invited you here. I expect you  
to never go into this room again! If I was thinking properly, then you would surely be  
kicked out on your own! Sarah, this is your only warning!" Peter demanded, and then  
quickly produced a key with which to look the door.  
  
She backed away from him, hurt by the harsh words and still terribly shocked at  
what had happened. She did not know what to say, for she doubted that Peter would  
believe in ghosts. He seemed more down-to-earth than that. Instead she merely turned  
about, in a blind rage, and rushed down the hallway, hopefully towards the kitchen. At  
that moment she wanted only to be alone and find some food.  
  
After that she would dwell on the other problems at hand.  



	11. Dreams of Reality

Chapter Eleven: Dreams of Reality  
  
"Tonight then, amidst the illumination of the crystal moon, we shall chose our role  
eternally as...," the large wooden door swung open, cutting off the voice that had spoken  
since then.  
  
Sarah peered into the theatre and offered a friendly smile. She was quite shocked  
to see only five others in there, practicing from the most recent lines that Peter had handed  
out. A woman, with thick blonde hair and magnificently sculpted features let out a  
disturbed moan and promptly snapped her leather-bound folder closed on the script.  
  
The others included a man, with light tawny hair, but he was at least ten years her  
elder. To his right sat a younger boy, perhaps eighteen, if he was lucky. He was terribly  
thin, almost emaciated, with nearly black hair that contrasted entirely with his pale  
complexion. Near the blonde woman reclined yet another man, his hair cropped short and  
the same remarkable blonde shade, this one her same age, with such a handsome face, that  
it almost took Sarah's breath as she looked at them. Standing near the stage was the final  
actor, who seemed the eldest of the others. He was perhaps forty, with a slight weight  
problem, and spectacles resting on the end of his broad nose. He looked up at Sarah and  
then ignored her completely.  
  
She allowed the door to swing closed behind herself and then walked silently  
inside. Still, only the older man continued in his rehearsal, reading the lines aloud to  
himself as he tried several movements to accentuate the feelings. He seemed quite pleased  
with his progress. Yet, all other eyes remained fixed on her.  
  
"Sorry for disturbing you," Sarah stated, pausing before the four who remained on  
the leather couches, near the stage.  
  
The woman offered Sarah a truly icy grin, if there ever was one. She tapped her  
manicured fingernails atop the folder and then turned to look at the attractive man beside  
her. He looked quite disillusioned with life at that moment, and instead had chosen to  
catch up on sleep.  
  
"We're glad to see you up and feeling better, Sarah," the brunette man responded,  
trying his best to sound truthful. After all, they were actors.  
  
She fixed the man with her most pleasant smile and nodded in thanks. However,  
he knew as well as she, that what had been said was utterly false. Most simply wanted her  
gone, well or not. Nonetheless, if she wanted to make any sort of a good impression then  
it was helpful to be a bit understanding of others shortcomings.  
  
She flipped back the first page, entirely blank, which was rather strange. Sarah  
had come to realize just how different this play was. In fact, she did not believe that it  
even had a title. Sarah sighed and looked at the cast list, and wondered once again who  
she would be playing.   
  
"Excuse me?" Sarah asked gently, turning her attention to the bearable man who  
had spoken to her earlier.  
  
He muttered something under his breath, but turned to look at her despite  
whatever was said. Sarah motioned to the page that laid open upon her lap and he looked,  
as she had directed. She was glad that someone was at least willing to help her, if only a  
slight bit.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but I still am not quite sure about my part,"  
Sarah spoke with even tones.  
  
The man turned his light, cornflower eyes towards hers and reached out with one  
large hand. Without a word, and acting rather snide at the same time, he pointed to the  
fifth name down and then leaned back into the black leather sofa, so as to study lines once  
more. Sarah nearly thanked him, but decided against it at the last moment. He would not  
want to speak to her anymore.  
  
She was excited, to say the least. After all, this would be her first part, in a play  
that was not involved with the school in some way. Sarah closed her eyes for a short time,  
anticipating the joy of what she would portray and then snapped them open, filled with  
wild anticipation.  
  
At once her spirit fell, crashing to the rocky cliffs of reality. Her entire mood  
dissipated, and clouds drifted over her face, darkening everything from her eyes to her lost  
smile. Her face remained set, stern almost, but one could easily see the crushed hopes and  
dashed dreams floating about in her blurry chestnut eyes. At once, Sarah knew that  
everyone else in the room had seen her dismay and she faced away from the prying eyes,  
yearning to be alone, but knowing to leave at that time would be like throwing away any  
last grain of self-esteem to which she still clung.  
  
"Maid?" she thought bitterly to herself.  
  
She had seen herself as so much more. Of course, Sarah had not expected to be  
the star, but could not deny the fact that she had thought about it occasionally. With a  
sigh she read through the setting, already trying to lift her spirits again.  
  
There are no small parts, only small actors. The phrase immediately became her  
mantra as she realized her lines were anything but plentiful. Although, she had only  
skimmed to see where she happened into the scene, clothed in frumpy, boring gray  
dresses, and a pristine white apron. Sarah cringed inwardly at the thought and then  
focused once more on the start of the play.  
  
"Should I wait and darkness comes to steal away the soothing light of day, how  
will I know it is thee who has come for me?" the blonde woman's voice drifted into  
Sarah's concentration and drove away any chance for her to study.  
  
Now, the man who had appeared asleep, and still laid with his eyes closed off from  
the world, raised a hand in mock dramatics. His face, however, remained dead serious as  
lines that had only been presented that day, poured forth from a perfect memory.   
  
"Then I shall sing, and let it be known that it is I, your true love come. All around  
the air will say, my lady soon will stir this way...," the man ended in a lovely tenor voice,  
that rose throughout the entire theatre.  
  
Sarah sat, utterly silent as the song drifted into her memory, tantalizing events out  
of the dark mists that had set over her mind that morning. That song, that bit of melody  
that had sounded so sweet from this actor's lips, had been heard by her before. Sarah  
gasped in shock, realized exactly where she had heard the tune before. It had been in her  
dreams.  
  
She rose with a start, the entire script very nearly plummeting to the floor. Sarah  
snaked her hand out at the last moment and caught it, before embarrassing herself to no  
extent. However, at that moment she could see only red, as her anger flared on and on. It  
was not right to torture her so.  
  
"Where did you hear that!? Why must you treat me this way?! What have I ever  
done to you?!" She demanded, setting the script roughly upon the chair she had only just  
left.  
  
The blonde actor rose from his reclined position and finally opened his eyes, to  
reveal...  
  
Sarah gasped and backed into the chair, nearly tipping it over and tripping all at  
once. She quickly corrected herself and gathered her balance. Yet, all she yearned to do  
was put as much distance between Fontridge and herself as possible. Of course, she knew  
that that would not happen.  
  
"Something wrong with you? Having another "episode"," the man put a certain  
emphasis on the final word, so that it grated against her ears.  
  
Sarah rushed forward and stared at the man, fighting back any fear that his eyes  
brought to her. This was not real, merely a joke someone had played on her, so as to  
make her leave. If that was what everyone wanted then Sarah would certainly be the first  
to disappoint them. She was still determined and stubborn, and knew that that would  
never change.  
  
The actor's eyes lacked any emotion. In fact, they appeared dead. The only  
striking quality was the color. One was the shade of the ocean on a sunny summer day,  
the other that of leaves in autumn, as they fell from the trees to the ground, forming lovely  
chestnut hues. She was looking at eyes that had been apparent in only one other person  
she had ever met, Jareth!  
  
"How dare you," Sarah replied in a deadly whisper.  
  
The man before her seemed to almost shudder, if not outwardly, then his entire  
ego and bravery where certainly under massive strain. However, his false front and  
obvious acting skills won over the fear that she implanted into his soul. He moved  
forward, cutting the scant distance between their faces to a near nothing. The eyes drilled  
into her mind, nagging at painful memories, almost drawing tears that would ruin  
everything.  
  
"What have I done to incite this rage?" he questioned, almost sarcastically.  
  
Sarah snatched her script and laid it heavily upon his lap. He uttered a single  
muffled cry of pain and then fixed Sarah with a truly icy glare. She crossed her arms over  
her chest, and then gestured towards the play, as if he should have known all along what  
he had done. However, Sarah was beginning to wonder if what he had done had not been  
directed towards her. She wasn't quite as sure as she had once been.  
  
"Why do you insist on mocking me? Where've you heard that song!?" Sarah  
demanded.  
  
At that the blonde actor allowed a fit of laughter to erupt from his vocal chords.   
He tossed his handsome head back and fell against the comfortable leather sofa. At his  
side the woman observed the antics with an air of disdain. She edged away from his  
childish behavior and then continued to watch the battle between the two.  
  
He turned to look at Sarah once more, his face dead serious after just experiencing  
bouts of nearly overwhelming laughter. He took her script in hand and waved it about,  
almost threatening to drop it all over the floor. At the last moment, just as Sarah made to  
lunge for the fallen paper, he set it firmly atop the table near by.  
  
"I pride myself on memorizing, Sarah. Read the play sometime, and maybe the  
song will come to you as well," he scoffed and then turned to talk to the others that sat  
beside him.  
  
Sarah shivered at his words. She could not manage to begin to understand why  
her dream song should be in the play. Her entire being felt cold, almost detached from the  
world as if she were drifting into oblivion. However, how could she deny the fact?   
Certainly the actor would not say such a thing and lie, since she could easily look and  
prove him wrong in front of all who remained as spectators to the conflict.  
  
"No! NO! What about those eyes? I've never seen anything like that!" Sarah  
stated, grasping his shoulder and forcing the actor to acknowledge her presence once  
again.  
  
He turned and casually looked at the angered Sarah. Her cheeks had flushed quite  
a bit in her rage and her eyes burned with fiery determination. It was obvious that she was  
beautiful even while resting, but in her fury she was gorgeous. Sarah tightened her full lips  
and waited for an answer.  
  
With a single deft movement, that would have surely terrified Sarah, he placed a  
single tip of his finger right above his eye. In the next instant, without so much as a tear  
produced, he looked back at Sarah, both eyes normally chestnut in color. Upon the finger  
rested a tiny blue disk, obviously a contact lens.  
  
"If you have problems with the script, then I suggest that those be directed  
towards Peter. However, my dear, I would be more than happy to point out other key  
points that might have been ignored, while you.... weren't feeling yourself," he smiled a  
predatory grin and then set the contact upon her script.  
  
He watched Sarah for a brief moment and then turned away once again. Sarah  
could only stand, shocked and paralyzed in that spot. It could not be that Peter had  
known Jareth, or somehow witnessed her dreams. She shook her head in disagreement  
with all that had been told to her. She couldn't allow these mind games to be plaid upon  
her, and if they were, she would force herself to be strong and prevent them from sinking  
in.  
  
She fumbled with words for the briefest amount of time and then gave up entirely.   
It was no use to appear totally frazzled before these self-obsessed actors. They were not  
worth her time. Sarah turned with a flip of her shimmering chestnut hair and then scooped  
her script into her arms, finally succeeding after several failed attempts to sweep the  
colored contact to the ground, perhaps to be stepped on at a later time.  
  
At the last moment, she hesitated, and then swung her head back around to glare  
at the blonde actor, who had obviously decided to watch her walk away. His eyes trailed  
noticeably lower than she liked, and she cleared her throat to gather up his attention. He  
casually met her angered gaze and smiled once again.  
  
"What do you want from me?" she asked, soft and filled with emotion.  
  
A sly grin found its way to the man's handsome face, and he finally rose from his  
position upon the comfortable sofa. The actress beside him offered a puzzled look to his  
sudden movement, but soon delved back into the plot and her many lines that still needed  
much work.  
  
"From you, not much. Perhaps some time spent cracking through that tough  
exterior. Maybe loosening you up," he stated and then reached out a hand to touch her  
hair.  
  
Sarah recoiled as if she had been burned. She narrowed her eyes and suppressed a  
snarl that formed on her full lips. This cretin, who had done everything to make her life  
hell, was coming on to her? Sarah was shocked, stunned, flabbergasted, to say the least.   
She set her jaw and searched for something, anything that would cut his ego down to size.  
  
"After what you have done to me...," Sarah could not continue, but only shake her  
head in stunned silence.  
  
The actor edged forward, perhaps taking her lack of words as a happy sort of  
shock. However, he obviously had not read her well enough. Sarah recoiled once again,  
but, urged forward by her raging anger, struck at him with her hand. She slapped him  
across his face, with enough power to rock his head back and leave quite a throbbing red  
mark as evidence of what she had done.  
  
"Bastard!" Sarah remarked.  
  
All attention in the room was instantly averted to the confrontation between the  
two. All eyes remained glued on the man, whom rubbed at his reddened cheek slightly,  
glaring at Sarah the entire time. A look of shock and complete resentment covered the  
many pairs of eyes that Sarah looked towards before rushing away.  
  
The doors swung open, and Sarah only avoided them by a scant margin. She  
yearned to be away from the theatre, and all the phony people by which she had found  
herself surrounded. Even now, as she stood there, waiting for the person to enter, Sarah  
could hear the injured man's groans, and several bouts of laughter. She smiled in pride.  
  
"Sarah?" Gabrielle asked carefully, her voice shaking only slightly as she rushed  
forward. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair in disarray.  
  
Sarah immediately feared the worst, as she had done since her return from the  
labyrinth. Gabrielle grabbed Sarah's hands and quickly led her towards the swinging  
doors, anxious to get them somewhere.   
  
"Gabby, what is it?" Sarah demanded, yanking herself free from her friend's  
vice-like grip.  
  
Gabrielle turned, her eyes downcast and her chest heaving in an unnatural form. It  
was obvious that something bad had happened. As a matter of fact, Gabrielle almost  
appeared ready to cry. Sarah stepped forward and placed an arm about her friend's  
shuddering shoulders.  
  
The auburn-haired woman turned her emerald eyes down the hallway, as if looking  
at some unseen force. She then sighed deeply and readied herself to speak. Bad news was  
not something she enjoyed delivering.  
  
"Peter was passing your room, and....Sarah, I can't even begin to explain it,"  
Gabby paused once more, overcome by shock.  
  
Sarah placed her hands on Gabrielle's shoulders, ordering her with her eyes to  
continue. She could not be kept in such extreme suspense. Sarah narrowed her eyes, and  
tightened her lips. She urged her friend to talk once again.  
  
"Gabby, go on!" Sarah commanded, firmly.  
  
"It's burned, Sarah...all of it. But,... there were never any flames."  



	12. So a Soul is Lost

Chapter Twelve: So a Soul is Lost  
  
Sarah stared down, seemingly in a strange spell, and into the porcelain mug  
clutched firmly in whitened hands. They shook, causing tremors to overcome the once  
smooth brown liquid, that had long since lost its original warmth. Her palms, now devoid  
of feeling from the heat they had sustained, were only mildly stinging with the burn dealt  
out by the hot china.   
  
So, her eyes, a shade that matched the untouched coffee, remained set on the  
swirling shapes and ripples that continued to make their way across the liquid. It was like  
a tiny pool, full of life, and strange of color. Her mind never once registered the fact that  
this had been given to her hours earlier, and still she had not moved an inch since then.   
  
About shoulder, slightly slouched over in denial of everything, rested a comforting  
afghan. It had been lovingly crocheted into amazing patterns that would have boggled  
Sarah's mind, had she though about it. Still, the tender pastel hues that arched over her  
back and hung down, reaching nearly to the ground, felt calming around her. It was like  
wearing a rainbow, or maybe a fantasy story from the past that did not have a poor  
ending.  
  
She blinked, but did so only once, still overcome by the day's events. Sarah's face,  
a brilliant and beautiful visage if ever one was seen, had taken on a sickly pale shade,  
leaving her lips to nearly scream out in their defiant redness. She had chewed on them as  
she tried to cope, and had come out far from victorious. Her mouth rested, parted  
slightly, to reveal pearly teeth, straight and perfect, as most everything was that belonged  
to her. She had been blessed, and cursed. Those same physical attributes that would form  
envy in others, caused her nothing but grief.  
  
With another blink her eyelashes brushed her cheek, as butterfly kisses. Soft,  
tender, they were everything that she did not have, could not have in her life anymore.   
She was hardened from reality, far too much that had broken in on her over the course of  
only eight years. Her dreams had been shattered, her heart left to wither in utter  
destruction, and the last of her rationale disappeared down the drain with the crimson flow  
that poured from her sliced wrists.  
  
So she sat, as if she was only another strange, but shocking life-like figure in the  
horrid mansion. Fontridge surrounded her from all angles, perhaps mocking in splendid  
glory, the girl who had been thrown into the deep end, with no hope of floundering her  
way to safety. She was among enemies, and strange circumstances, as well as certain  
figures from past adventures. This was her life, such a splendid adventure, that soon  
would end, and she would be sure of it this time.  
  
Sarah broke her catatonic state and glanced down at the torn and bloodied  
bandages about her wrists. Gabrielle had grabbed her in attempts to sustain the hysterical  
Sarah, and had succeeded in nearly ripping the gauze from her arm. It would not have  
mattered, even if the very stitched had been torn out, for Sarah felt nothing, she had been  
numb.  
  
Her lips moved to mouth some words, or perhaps even a sentence, but nothing  
could be heard. Of course, there was no one in the grand room, that would perhaps be  
called a living room in more quaint situations. She could have proclaimed at the top of her  
voice, that she planned on taking her life that night, and still none would be any the wiser.   
She was safe, and that made her plan much more terrifying. If she did it now, there would  
be no one to save her.  
  
Sarah's heart fluttered in fear, though she knew what had to be done. She could  
not live a life in constant terror and anxiety, that simply was not possible. With a deep  
breath she at last placed the cup and saucer atop a near by table.   
  
With a shrug of her shoulders, the blanket toppled to the sofa she had sat upon.   
Then, struggling only slightly with the lack of feeling in her legs, rose to her feet. Sarah  
shook out the cramps that had come during her frozen state, remaining perfectly still.   
That was never pleasant. The feeling of blood flowing back into her legs made her nearly  
fall back to the comfortable love seat, but she continued on towards the hall that would  
eventually lead to her bedroom.  
  
She had tried everything, had even ignored the mysterious disappearing woman  
and the deserted room. Sarah could easily convince herself that the entire event had been  
an illusion, brought on by her state of mind, but the fire had been the final shock that had  
broken what little bit of a grip she had had on sanity, or whatever control she held over  
her life. This was where it would end.  
  
Outside the moon had already risen, which surprised her momentarily. It had been  
early in the afternoon when she had entered the theatre to try to rehearse. However,  
Sarah had no clue as to how long she had remained seated in the sofa, as people (namely  
Gabrielle and even Peter) scurried around to make her comfortable and calm her down.   
Night could have easily fallen as she remained alone, with only her horrid thoughts for  
company.  
  
She paused briefly on course to the hallway, averted by the tinkling sound of a  
piano playing in some distant room. Sarah perked her ears in attentive admiration and  
then allowed a ghost of a smile to pass over her features. The piano had always been her  
favorite instrument, such a lovely thing to hear. Whomever now played was remarkable at  
doing so.  
  
Sarah nearly continued on, but stopped once again and glanced towards the area   
from which she believed the sound emanated. It was at least worth seeing who had such  
talent in music. Sarah sighed and then started the entire different direction, not worried  
about becoming lost in the least, for there was the music to follow.  
  
She pushed open a rather large and heavy door and stared down the dimly lit  
corridor. It was strangely different from others in that way, the lack of illumination.   
Actually, Sarah glanced at the walls and realized in shock that they were made of stone,  
almost like those of the castle at the center of the Labyrinth.  
  
The door shut behind her, and Sarah suddenly realized that, as she looked at the  
different walls, she had entered into the eerie passage. She shivered as a case of nerves  
stole over her determined soul, that had resurfaced for the time being. It was strange to  
think that she had planned on killing herself only a short time ago. Sarah trembled again at  
the thought and took a single step into the hallway.  
  
"Sarah, does this seem unreal to you? Why don't you learn after all you've faced?   
Doesn't this seem like another dream?" her subconscious mind questioned knowingly.  
  
She stopped in midstride and looked at the flickering orange gleams that lit the  
way. A realization stole over her mind as she looked at the dancing flames, mounted atop  
a wooden shaft, that rested in an iron case. This walkway had been illuminated using  
torches entirely , and no modern lights. Perhaps her mind had been correct in the  
assumption that this was yet another dream, and that her waking body rested in the 'living  
room', asleep.  
  
However, the sweet sound of the piano drove her ever onward, almost as if the  
notes moved her feet instead of her own muscles. If it had not been for her roused  
curiosity, Sarah might have found herself rather unnerved at the lack of control she had  
over the entire situation. It reminded her, but only briefly, of The Phantom of the Opera,  
another of her all time favorites.  
  
She gazed down at herself, almost half expecting to see some extravagant form of  
clothing now adorning her body. Yet, she was met with the normal apparition of her  
dingy gray sweats, the same in which she had awakened . Perhaps her original idea of a  
dream had been a bit hasty, for surely she would have changed her attire to meet the  
mysterious pianist.  
  
Sarah turned her attention back to the music and listened closely, trying to  
decipher where to head, and which room held the secret of the piano and its player. Sarah  
carefully pressed an ear to each passing door, as the sound grew stronger and closer with  
every passing step. She would hold her breath and listen attentively, anxious to her the  
resonating sound of keys and notes hanging in space for a short time, only to drift away  
into oblivion.  
  
However, time and again she was met with disappointment. Each room held  
nothing save perhaps old furniture and dust. Of course, Sarah seriously doubted that any  
inch of Fontridge had so much as a single grain of grime. She had seen no flaw in its  
perfection, except the strange destroyed and abandoned room that Peter had seemed so  
determined to keep locked away from everyone.  
  
"This is pointless," Sarah exclaimed, under a heavy sigh.  
  
She leaned against the cold stone wall, almost feeling like the young teen who had  
entered into a seemingly unsolvable labyrinth years ago. It was the same in either  
direction, if one did not know the correct way to look. Sarah glanced at the door across  
from her, same as the others. Another oddity in the hall, everything was surprisingly  
uniform and devoid of the lavish art that adorned the rest of the mansion.  
  
Now the music sounded as if it came from all around her. It had to be close, but  
she could not even begin to imagine where it was. She had believed that she had found it  
several minutes earlier, and still was not any closer to discovering the hidden secret.  
  
With a heavy heart, and heavier steps, she reached out to the door across from her.   
Sarah's last bit of hope rested with this final passageway. She hesitated briefly, her  
fingertips only slightly touching the smooth surface of the polished knob. Then, assuring  
herself that this would be quite the same as all the others, she turned the knob and swung  
open the wide oak door.  
  
At once she was bathed in a washing glare of orange candlelight. From every  
angle rested a serene white candle, wax lazily dripping down to rest on the crystalline  
coasters below each and every one. Wherever she looked, Sarah could see the dancing  
flames, almost hypnotic in their motion, and sweeping across her was the piano music,  
now forming into a familiar tune.  
  
The figure sitting behind the instrument, moved with the music, accentuating his  
fluid grace in every bob and sway. He wore a dark cloak, to hide any familiar appearances  
that Sarah might notice. She, however, found it all too enticing to leave, and ventured  
into the room, losing her inhibitions as the scent of hundreds of candles cloaked her  
senses.  
  
She twisted about, adoring the scenery, the orange luminess of the flames and  
medieval quality to the music. She could easily imagine a time when fairies really were  
prevalent upon the earth, and princes rode off to fight dragons for the hand of the lovely  
maiden, or perhaps even a princess.  
  
She only vaguely sensed the figure behind the piano raise to his feet, the cloak  
drifting in a black shadow-like appearance. Still the lovely music continued, and she  
began to dance, and cease her half-hearted movements for those of a fluid waltz. The  
dark figure moved near her, he too taking up the dance, and soon he grasped her hand in  
his.  
  
At once Sarah felt part of the whole, as the stranger led her into movements that  
flowed like silk, and as intoxicating as any liquor that could be concocted. He spun her  
about, easily keeping the beat, and soon Sarah felt herself only concerned with the song  
and her mysterious dance partner.  
  
Then, startling her only briefly, words accompanied the, since then, solo music.   
  
"There's no living in my life anymore.  
The seas have gone dry and the rain stopped falling.  
Please don't you cry anymore.  
Can't you see?  
Listen to the breeze, whisper to me please  
Don't send me to the path of nevermore!  
  
Even the valleys below  
Where the rays of sun were so warm and tender  
Now haven't anything to grow  
Can't you see?  
Why did you have to leave me?  
Why did you deceive me?  
You send me to the path of nevermore!  
When you say you didn't love me anymore!"  
  
The man stopped his song and jerked back the hood that had hidden his face so  
well. Sarah looked at him with a mild drugged expression. Although, the moment her  
slowed mind finally registered who this was that had danced with her, and had sung for  
her, she pulled away, in a replay from the crystal ballroom years earlier.  
  
Sarah found herself moving differently, as if her weight had shifted. She looked  
down once again and found that, in place of her sweats, was now a magnificent crimson  
ballgown. It scooped down low in the front, to a bodice that was embroidered with rubies  
and crystalline dust, which shone magnificently in the candlelight. At her hips, the fitted  
bodice ended, allowing layers of flared skirts to sweep down to the floor, covering her feet  
and even trailing a bit on the stone ground. Her hair was done up in a miraculous network  
of spirals and curls, and all fastened with a single red clip, adorned much the same as the  
dress. About her neck was a choker, this white, the only other color she now wore.  
  
Sarah looked in horror towards her enemy, Jareth, who smiled almost humanely.   
He offered her his gloved hand once again, but she flinched away from him and lunged out  
for the door. However, she was met with only wall, and the discovery that there was no  
escape while Jareth did not wish it so. Sarah spun around, anger raging in her eyes, and  
reflecting the crimson shade of the dress. Even her cheeks flushed and her lips, also now  
covered in bright lipstick, formed into a frown.  
  
"Nevermore, Nevermore, Nevermore....," the voice faded, though Jareth never did  
move his lips to utter the words.  
  
He threw down the cloak, revealing his remarkable form, resplendent in a flowing  
poet shirt, the matching shade of Sarah's gown, and a leather vest, black in contrast. His  
pants were also black, blending into the boots. His feral eyes, changeling eyes, observed  
her slyly and then he managed to approach her, but only a single step.  
  
"Let me out of this dream!" Sarah demanded, not allowing Jareth to come any  
closer than he was.  
  
Jareth cocked his head at her statement and then smirked a bit at what she did not  
know. He dared another step, and once again Sarah retreated. She was not willing to be  
near him again, not after that lovely dance, and the almost real dream. Pity it had been  
only that, a figment of Sarah's imagination. Oh, but what an imagination!  
  
"What leads you to believe this all a dream? Does my presence signify fantasy  
only?" Jareth taunted, now crossing his arms over the black leather vest.  
  
Sarah nearly hissed at his questions to answer her own inquiries. He did that  
constantly. She would have struck out at him, had it not been for the strange, growing  
urge to leap into his arms. She shook her head and continued to back away from his  
advances. Yet, it was growing achingly obvious that soon there would be nowhere for her  
to go.  
  
"Jareth, I am not dull! I can easily see this dress and the changing room as obvious  
factors in a dream. Why must you torment me?" she asked, now taking a step towards the  
Goblin King instead of backing away.  
  
Jareth paused briefly to think over her questions. Sarah was intelligent, but simply  
closed off to all the possibilities of life. After all, he had come to her before out of dreams,  
when Toby had been taken and several times in the Labyrinth.  
  
"My magic is not limited to parlor tricks, my dear. The formation of a dress, or  
adding candles and music to your pointless life is not difficult for a Fae king," Jareth  
replied.  
  
"Why!" She asked, her eyes pleading with him to explain why, of all the young  
women in the world, he had chosen her life into which he would make his presence  
known.  
  
With that he reached out again and took her chin into his hand. The coarse touch  
of the black leather glove was everything she hated, the last memory of him and his cruel  
ways while she traversed the perilous labyrinth. Sarah yearned to pull away, but knew that  
it was not the time yet to be defiant. She could sense an answer, after so very long  
wondering the reason for his appearing to her time and again.  
  
"That heart, that soul, your imagination, your spirit. I loved them all for a time,  
and they grew as you did, and I watched from my castle. Don't be so dense to believe  
that finding the book was chance, and uttering the words, Toby being taken.... don't you  
see? It was done all for you, to show you your dreams in form of the Underground. And  
you cast it away, losing everything that separated you from all else," Jareth stopped, his  
eyes burning into hers in their two distinct shades.  
  
A single silver tear trickled from her eye and traveled down her cheek. Jareth  
reached out tenderly and brushed it aside. Even that touch sent shivers down her spine. It  
was true that, even though she had been but fourteen when first driven into the  
Underground, at the first sight of this handsome king, Sarah had felt a tingling attraction,  
almost electric. Now, she was not sure if she could feel anything anymore, save sorrow  
and pain.  
  
Jareth removed his hand from her face and turned her arms over. A pain, deep and  
nearly hidden, formed in his eyes as he looked at the bloodied bandages. He then turned  
his gaze back to the young girl, begging for an explanation as to why she should choose  
such a fate as suicide. However, Sarah could not answer.  
  
"I returned for what was left, though I fear nothing remains in that empty shell.   
Where have you traveled Sarah, and where do you hide? I cannot see it any longer, and  
my crystals are all blank, only showing me darkness. You have taken that light and  
doused it repeatedly, hoping to dwell in soothing darkness," he spoke so very close to her  
face, his breath brushing against her ear and driving her almost mad with passion.  
  
"Please, no," she begged, and leaned against him as sobs overtook her control she  
had once had on her emotions.  
  
Jareth enveloped the young woman in his arms, holding her in a magical embrace.   
She felt safe, finally, for once in so many years. She could smile and truly be happy, not  
just continue with the act after the play was over and done.   
  
He touched her chin once again and guided her blurred gaze up to his. Jareth  
looked down at her and, without a moment of hesitation moved in to cover her lips with  
his own. In an instant the kisses deepened and he wrapped his arms about her, drawing  
her nearer still. Sarah's hands found their way to his mane of golden hair, adoring its  
silken texture.   
  
His lips traced a path of fire down her neck, and to her collarbone, pausing only  
slightly above the swell of her breasts, that heaved with each struggled breath she took.   
The dress became far too tight, too heavy, she yearned to be free of the constricting  
restraints of the material. She wanted to be with him, and only him forever.  
  
His lips brushed like a breeze across her cheek and paused. Jareth's breath drew in  
deeply and then swept across her ear, leaving her emotionally helpless and utterly under  
his mystical control. A barely audible moan escaped from her mouth, more of a feral urge  
that he cease the tormenting way in which he now treated her, and continue on, as he had  
done earlier.   
  
"Perhaps, there is something hidden behind those blank eyes, that destroyed  
imagination. What is it you long for, my dear? What is it that is enclosed deep in your  
soul, your most powerful desire? I can give you dreams that are so dark, you yourself  
have yet to fully admit to them," Jareth whispered, touching her ear momentarily with his  
tongue.  
  
Sarah rolled her head back and uttered the same strange sound she had made a  
moment before. She could find no words that would possibly bring her feelings into an  
understandable reality. She literally burned with desires that ravaged across her entire  
body, as if she were merely an evolutionary fall into the realms of wild cats. Sarah could  
do nothing but think of him, and wonder, (somewhere far off, where this strange spell had  
not cast its ludicrous light), where her true self had gone for refuge.  
  
Jareth reached behind her trembling body, drawing his mouth so close to hers that  
it took all her diminished will power not to kiss him, demanding that sweet passion to flow  
forth, covering her entirely. With hands as lithe as a cat, he carefully unfastened the ruby  
buttons that held this massive dress, clinging to her voluptuous figure. She felt the  
material slide, slinking submissively to the floor, as if it too had fallen prey to Jareth's  
seductive nature.  
  
He guided her gently, as if acting like a gentleman in such a situation as this,  
towards the bed cloaked in black silk. That was truly a contradiction if ever there was  
one. Jareth, a gentleman, while he seduced her, a mortal by far his minor. Sarah was just  
an innocent, naive girl, though her age would speak differently, as would her body's  
needs.   
  
"Twenty-four, and this is the first experience of lust such as this. Why Sarah, why  
wait so long to feel these hands caress your skin? Why? Surely there have been others  
who have pondered your cold nature as they slept, hurt and yearning for something that  
only I can offer," she thought to herself as Jareth watched her sit upon the silken  
bedspread.  
  
He bent down, leaning her back so that she laid down, upon the mattress. Jareth  
bent over her and stared into her eyes, dark orbits accentuated with chestnut highlights.   
Oh, but they were so uniform in color with only the candle light illuminating the room.   
She seemed to look out through pupils entirely, crowned with lush eyelashes, half closed  
now in a mature, alluring expression.  
  
He plunged forward, guiding her dress down further, though still allowing it to  
separate their bodies. His lips tasted hers, but only for a moment before he backed up  
once more and stared down at her shivering body.   
  
"Surely there is one dream that you wish could be yours. We all have our hidden  
aspects of ourselves, Sarah, and you're no different. Fantasies do not lie, and what was  
played in your mind only last night was your own desire breaking through. Speak but one  
word, and I will know that you wish to be saved from this mundane existence that is  
slowly killing you," Jareth begged. However, deep inside his ambiguous words, she could  
see the same meaning as was in his final plea when they two faced, so many years before.  
  
The world whirled around before Sarah's eyes. Her mind nearly collapsed, leaving  
her deaf and dumb, and entirely helpless with this monster prepared to pounce on her  
vulnerable body. She looked around, seeing holes in the illusion. The bed, so soft and  
delicate, was nothing, save a cast-away antique, battered beyond repair. The candles  
faltered and showed the true darkness from every angle. Only Jareth did not change, for  
he was the magic creating this grand charade.  
  
She flung her arms about wildly, pushing at Jareth's weight to allow her freedom.   
With one mighty surge of strength, Sarah found herself sitting, and Jareth across the room,  
cold fire dancing in his Fae eyes. He had not fallen, but merely leapt aside as she had  
fought back. It was easy to say, that Jareth had not expected such determination in a  
woman whom he believed to be but a shell of her former self.  
  
"Goblin King, your tricks will not work here. Leave me be, and abandon my  
dreams and those hopes of 'rescuing me', as you so kindly put it. I will not be had in this  
way by you. There is never truth in your words, nor love!" Sarah replied, her tones dead  
with drained emotions and broken feelings.  
  
Jareth approached her one final time, his eyes taking in the dangerously low dress,  
which had sneaked down while she made her stubborn statement. Sarah quickly remedied  
the situation, and pulled the garment back to her shoulders. Jareth's gaze averted to her  
eyes, menacing and cold.  
  
"I could have taken you entirely at that moment, Sarah, and you would have not  
fought, only begged for more. Such a strong heart, unique soul, is so lost through pains of  
adult life, and adult needs," Jareth whispered. He noted the broken look that plastered to  
Sarah's face, and smiled.  
  
Sarah narrowed her eyes, angered that what he had said had been so very true.   
She would have allowed him to take her greatest, most protected treasure, and never  
regretted until he flitted away to yet another woman who caught his interest. She wiped a  
hand across her mouth, still feeling the touch of his warm lips against her own.  
  
"I would never....," Sarah was beyond words, and disgusted to the point of nausea  
when she thought about her actions, her animal behavior, "I wish only that I could banish  
you from my life, using magic against..."  
  
Jareth at once erupted into a wild bout of laughter. His eyes lit dangerously, and  
Sarah could not help but feel threatened. She clutched the material tighter in her whitened  
hands and backed against the bed as Jareth quieted. However, he produced a single  
perfect crystal and set it gently upon the wooden floor.  
  
"As you wish, Sarah," Jareth responded and then glanced at her casually, before  
taking a single step back. With that he faded into a uniform orange glow, matching that of  
the fading candles.   
  
Sarah covered her face with her trembling hands, angered to a point of no return,  
and unable to vent it upon the man whom had caused the emotion in the first place.   
However, she could not remain that way forever, and soon forced herself to look about  
the room. She found only the same sparse furniture that had been in the others, and not  
even the piano remained.  
  
Still, upon the ground rested a single crystalline orb, seemingly innocent and pure  
in the room. It shone with a faint white hue, that seemed, if Sarah was not mistaken, to be  
growing ever brighter with each passing heartbeat. She moved for the door, but found it  
not there once again. Sarah turned her widened eyes back to the crystal, only to see that  
the glow had grown to an intensity that was nearly painful.  
  
Sarah shielded her eyes against the whiteness and tried to find some form of  
escape. Yet, all she managed was to stumble about, groping for something in her blind  
state, eyes firmly closed against the powerful light. She rapped her knee fiercely against  
some odd piece of furniture and sunk to the ground, at once becoming bathed in the  
growing illumination.  
  
Sarah curled into a protective ball, terrified and unable to move even to save her  
life. So she merely hid, her face buried in the layers of the red dress she still wore, and  
silken tears slowly slipping from her cheek to shatter upon the countless sequins sewn to  
the gown.   
  
All Sarah could do was rest, and hope that Jareth had not sent the crystal to  
destroy her, and with her his finest competition. 


	13. So a Dream is Broken

Chapter Thirteen: So a Dream is Broken  
  
In a darkened room, lit by only one waning candle, sat a dark king. His cloak hung  
loose down his back and road a breeze as if transformed into some toxic liquid. Golden  
locks that appeared so lustrous in the morning's sun, seemed almost dead, lifeless as he  
merely pondered the mishaps of life.   
  
Jareth placed a single gloved hand to his forehead, trying so desperately to decide  
what needed to be done next. Plans concocted over many hours of careful deliberation  
had faltered, and done so horribly, leaving him more detached from the girl than ever.  
  
"The girl... her name is Sarah, and there is no denying what has been felt already,"  
he remarked with a contemptuous scoff.  
  
Damn her. She had thrown his entire soul into chaos with the mere presence of  
spirit and life. Old wounds were reopened, with that defiance and spark of effervescence  
that so many others completely lacked. They were all dead to him, to a Fae born king.   
Those simple peasants who dwelled in the Underground and even the other mortals of  
Sarah's world held not even a speck of her essence. All, save one other before Sarah,  
whom had captivated his mind so many years prior.  
  
Jareth turned to glance at the wavering candle. The flame had dwindled to a bare  
flicker, only truly lighting a measurement of about a foot in all directions, which just  
slightly touched his shadowed form. Other than that, the entire vicinity was cast in  
shadows of ranging shades of darkness. The rocky walls, irregular and uneven in their  
masonry, jutted and sloped in crude monstrous forms, as if Jareth himself was captive in  
this castle.  
  
"Prison," he muttered to himself and then willed the disturbing images of what had  
been lost to leave him.  
  
He could take her, and would do so with no more than a flick of his wrist. After  
all, his power and magic far outweighed Sarah's speculations. She believed him to be  
nothing more than a joke. In her eyes he was a common clown who could perform only  
parlor tricks and produce a casual crystal from the depths of nothing. Certainly this was  
one aspect of the broad spectrum of his incantations, but not the only 'tricks' he knew.  
  
Jareth startled at the abrupt sound of harsh knocks upon the smooth wooden door.   
The hour was well past thirteen, a time when he found he could at last be alone with  
thoughts, those that would be best lost for all time. Of course, during the day he was the  
Goblin King, and ruler of the Underground. His subjects looked to him for his expertise  
and guidance, and of course, a figure of authority in their chaotic lives. Responsibilities  
were abundant in his occupation.  
  
"Enter," Jareth called out, and quickly swept his hand across a near by table. In an  
instant it was covered with a wide spectrum of candles, all ranging in size, shape, even  
color. The flames burst forth and illuminated his drawn face in a dancing orange hue.   
  
The door swung, as if of its own accord. Although Jareth knew better, an  
unconscious shiver stole up and down his spine. He remained seated and willed the calm  
disposition to stay with him. However, in the now revealed door frame, there stood  
nothing, only an inky darkness, as if the entire world ended beyond those rich wooden  
pillars.  
  
He could have bathed the entire room in a wash of bright light, revealing the  
intruder, but chose not to take such drastic measures. At once the slightest movement  
soothed his heightened nerves and he reclined once again against the plush chair. A figure  
dressed in a uniform black, of course, would not be seen in such a time of night.   
  
"Why do you come to me at this late hour?" Jareth questioned, though he never  
turned to acknowledge his guest.  
  
The figure, dressed in a full robe, complete with hood, that hid his mysterious  
features, said nothing. He merely remained behind Jareth, hands clasped beneath the large  
sleeves, and positioned directly below his ribcage. From within the hood, a flint of red  
glistened from the light cast by the many candles. At once it died, leaving behind a  
nothing that was horrendous.  
  
"Speak, or shall I send for the guard?" Jareth inquired, knowing that, despite his  
threats, the guard would never rise this late to do anything for their kingdom. Goblins  
were quite fickle that way.  
  
"My lord, your absence today sent a shock through the city," the man spoke with a  
voice that reminded one of dried leaves, brushing across a bare asphalt road. It bore a  
resonance of death, destruction, everything that Jareth's seductive tongue lacked.   
  
At this Jareth at last turned to acknowledge the man. He noted the bowed head,  
the downcast face, and slightly slouched figure. All else was hidden well beneath the  
bulky attire this strange one chose to wear every day, and apparently at night as well.   
Despite his peculiar mannerisms, the advice offered from this man was worth his weight in  
gold.   
  
"They can do without me. Shock, surely you exaggerate. I do not take lightly to  
such falsifications," Jareth responded, turning his back on the guest and dismissing him all  
in that one gesture.  
  
The dark one moved, with the stealth of a feline. He was at once before the king,  
still stooped, as if in humble praise of Jareth. However, there was no humility in his voice,  
nor could any be witnessed embedded in the hard features of his forever hidden face.   
Jareth himself had only witnessed the man's visage a few short times, when the Goblin  
King demanded to see to whom he had spoken.  
  
Such occurrences did not come by very often, and Jareth found that he had already  
forgotten what this man looked like without the hood. A brief memory of dark hair, and  
equally dark eyes flashed through his mind, though he did not know if it was connected  
with this fellow.  
  
"Forgive my intrusion, my lord, but your time has been limited in the castle as of  
late. A royal advisor is good for nothing, if left in the dark," the man spoke slowly, as if  
Jareth was nothing more than a child with a short attention span.  
  
It was true, and Jareth acknowledged the man's bluntness with a scoff of  
indifference. Royal duties were tedious, and his being gone was nothing of any great  
concern, at least in his mind. However, obviously it was seen differently by others. With  
a sigh he straightened himself and turned to look at the man standing before him.  
  
"Harsh pains of the past repeat themselves, does it not seem so?" Jareth inquired.  
  
The dark visitor only nodded slightly and waited for Jareth to continue with what  
needed to be said. A half smile, contemptuous and sarcastic flashed across the king's face  
in an instant.   
  
"I met the woman upon earth, at least two centuries ago, and believed that she and  
I would love forever. So are the dreams of youth... Time heals all wounds, or so I have  
been told by callous lords from my past. However, time is a trickster, and in my case, it  
brought those pains back through another, more perfect even than the first. She too  
destroyed me, and now I must watch her destroy herself," Jareth stated and then waited to  
hear the "advise" that everyone gave so readily.  
  
The shadowed individual broke his statuesque stance and walked quickly to the  
window on the other side of the room. The breeze still blew, sending faint tendrils of  
perfume from some night-blooming flower against the man's darkened face. The call of a  
bird, some distance away, signaled the coming of dawn, though the faintest trace of pink  
and purple hues could not even be imagined on the inky horizon. Still, the calling bird had  
awakened, and there was no denying the wisdom built into nature.  
  
"So it is this woman that you have been visiting. I do not need to recite from  
Underground laws to remind you that what you have done is forbidden. The Fae do not  
interact with mortals upon earth...," his voice raised briefly as he continued in the lecture.  
  
Jareth leapt from his position upon the chair to full unnerving height. He was  
before the robed man in an instant and glared with cold fire. The advisor immediately  
halted his words and shrank submissively away from his king. There was no telling what  
could be done when Jareth's anger was aroused. The Goblin King's power was  
immeasurable and more powerful than even the most practiced mystic or wizard.  
  
"I do not need your rules and regulations spouted at me. Do you think I am as dull  
as to not understand the consequences of my actions? I already have read the ancient  
scripts of the Underground, have memorized laws so as to dictate them to villains brought  
before me, for judgment. I am not naive as you think, Flagg!" Jareth at last brought forth  
the man's name, demeaning the individual with the poor emphasis he had placed upon the  
title.  
  
Flagg cringed and willed himself not to react, to hold back the thoughts that raced  
through his mind so often as of lately. His ancient face, ageless and shadowed, broke  
momentarily into the light. However, in Jareth's current state the King did not notice the  
flash of crimson embedded deep within those coal black eyes.   
  
Mystics, wizards, warlocks be damned when matched with the Goblin King. Flagg  
knew his limitations, though had almost believed when first arriving at the castle, that his  
powers could outweigh those of Jareth's. Now, after years of careful and observant  
service paid to the king, Flagg understand all too well that there could be no match for  
Jareth. Now, however, there seemed to be a weakening in the Fae lord, through the  
obvious emotions he felt for that woman.  
  
Flagg smiled to himself as these thoughts and plans whirled about in his hateful  
mind. He nearly shouted out in joy, perhaps allowing laughter to grace his vocal chords,  
but held back. Surely Jareth would believe him mad and dismiss him, if such an instance  
ever occurred.  
  
"I beg your pardon, my lord," Flagg remarked, bowing before the angered king in  
mock reverence.  
  
Jareth watched, but grew tired of the endless charades displayed constantly, day in  
and out. He waved his hand through the air and then walked back to his chair. There  
would be no more talk of these events, and Flagg knew that it was time to leave the king  
alone. He rose and carefully exited the room, his mind still wild with hundreds of  
thoughts.  
  
All the while Jareth continued to dwell upon the past, events that would never be  
righted no matter how long he mourned and prayed for deliverance from the hideous sins  
that were embedded in his soul. A guilt so strong constantly pounded against his being,  
always reminding of what was lost, and that it was he who was to blame.   
  
"Why Sarah? Why cast away such a fruitful existence. One so sickeningly short as  
it is...," Jareth trailed off and then glanced at the flickering candles he had supplied to see  
his guest.  
  
Flagg's warnings were entirely disregarded, for Jareth himself had sent out these  
same looming laws, upon those in his court who seek to charm a mortal woman as a  
spouse. Countless times he roared with authority, casting aside any chance for such a  
crossed love to occur. Now, the same ill fated emotion had claimed his soul, and Jareth  
was helpless, unable to cast it aside.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Sarah slowly raised her head from the cold ground. Her neck screamed in  
stiffened agony, as several tightened muscles pulled against each other. She fought against  
the dull ache and rubbed her shivering hand across the knots that fought to take over her  
entire neck.   
  
"Have I slept here the entire night?" Sarah asked herself as she glanced around at  
the vaguely familiar surroundings.  
  
Her clothing hung strangely upon her shoulders, as if it weighed far too much than  
would be natural for a sleeping garment. She averted her scanning gaze to herself, and  
gasped, barely containing a scream that yearned to break free. Her regular sweats were  
nowhere to be seen. Instead upon her body was a magnificent, extravagant ballgown,  
wrought from an intense crimson shade of material, and resplendent in the streaming  
morning light.  
  
Sarah placed a tentative hand atop an ancient table near by. A fine coating of dust  
had found its way over this single piece of furniture, which took her completely by  
surprise. Dirtiness was never evident in Fontridge prior to this morning.   
  
"In fact," Sarah pondered as she sat stunned over the gray filth that now coated  
her hand, "I have not seen a speck of imperfection until now."  
  
Nonetheless, it gave a feeling of reality to the entire mansion. Until that time, she  
felt almost as if the entire place had been constructed merely for the play, and truly was  
not as ancient as it seemed. Glancing around this room, so magnificent in its forgotten  
glory, she realized that there was much more to Fontridge than originally speculated.   
Perhaps more than even she wished to know.  
  
She dusted her hand and then slowly made her way to her weak legs. Every joint  
in her body felt as if it threatened to buckle, defying her pleas to remain strong. However,  
a night spent upon cold, rough ground could have horrid side-effects when even the  
healthiest person was concerned. Sarah herself could not be considered ill, but rather  
slightly set back by current events that infected her life.  
  
Sarah was almost half surprised to see the door in its old place, and standing open  
at that. She distinctly recalled, in a not to distant memory, this room lacking any and all  
forms of escape, save the window. However, if her mind was still considerate enough to  
remain trustworthy, she remembered Jareth and a piano, surrounded by a magical,  
romantic spell, as well. He certainly was no longer in the vicinity, which would constitute  
the reason for the return of the doorway.   
  
After the minutes spent mulling over the appearance of her escape, Sarah finally  
brushed the confusing thoughts aside and lifted her massive skirts to leave the constricting  
room. Just being in there brought back awfully lucid sensations of a certain Goblin King  
far too close to her. She shivered as she made her way into the dimly lit passageway.  
  
"Peter must not make it back here too often," Sarah stated, glancing warily at a  
rather large black spider suspended near a now unlit torch.  
  
She could distinctly recollect the images of magical proportions of the night prior.   
Such a mystical and even medieval scene had unfurled itself as she ventured further down  
this passage, following equally as magic music, drifting all about. Sarah could nearly  
convince herself that the music was still present, if she only closed her eyes and thought of  
hundreds of emotions that had been hurled about at the mere sound of the mesmerizing  
tune.  
  
Then it came. Suddenly and attacking, and not as sweet as once had been in the  
night's serene moonlight. Sarah snapped her eyes opened and instantly halted in mid  
stride. Surely she had been mistaken, and had not heard the faintest catches of notes, a  
piano, coming from further within the house. Of course, the keys had been plunked rather  
carelessly, not as Jareth had stroked them, swaying to the music as if one with it. This  
was not the same, but merely some fluke coincidence.  
  
She instantly lengthened and quickened her stride. Her mind had already formed  
countless explanations for the music, and was not ready to accept any one as of yet.   
Again the faintest bits of a song, pausing between, and beginning again from the point  
where it was left off. Whomever was playing, they were entirely butchering the sweet,  
sad, melody.  
  
Sarah paused behind the wooden doors, that led into the main greeting room. The  
music was far louder, almost as if it laid right beyond this blockade. She almost yearned  
to remain in the soothing dark, and nearly cool passageway, instead of dwelling with the  
horrid actors and actresses who all believed themselves to be entirely perfect in every way.   
It made Sarah disgusted just thinking about it.  
  
She pushed aside her reservations and hurled the door open. If she was to make  
an entrance, then it would be a grand one. Sarah strode out, barely avoiding the massive  
doors as, obeying gravity, they swung back to their frame. A massive, ringing slam  
resounded through the room, and Sarah cringed, realizing her poor decision and stupid  
mistake as well.  
  
Immediately the music, if one could really call the sharp and flat notes linked  
together by several stifling long pauses of nothing, music, halted and covered the entire  
mansion in an unnerving silence. Sarah bit her lip and casually placed herself in one of the  
massive chairs that she had remained in the day before. Lucky for her the actors had not  
been practicing in the greeting hall, but soon would be here, if only to see where the noise  
had come from.  
  
Sarah watched, and with a depressed sigh, waited for the first angered person to  
show their face. She could take it, as she had taken everything else. However, the  
memory of her garments struck her, and Sarah immediately glanced down to see the  
shimmering red ballgown, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to wear,  
and at that time in the morning as well.  
  
"Wonderful," Sarah remarked under her breath and straightened a wrinkled train  
near her foot.  
  
"Sarah! Where have you been keeping yourself?" Gabrielle demanded in a  
wonderfully friendly tone.  
  
She hurried into the room, but halted at the sight of the aforementioned gown.   
Gabby's eyes grew large and she glanced warily at her friend. Of course, the original  
intricate hairstyle that had been a lovely companion to the entire ensemble, had flattened  
and fallen back to a tangled mass of straight chestnut locks, which made Sarah appear all  
the more crazy.  
  
"It isn't what it seems, Gabby. You have to believe me on this...," Sarah stopped  
as more tramped into the room, angered as they realized who had caused the entire  
commotion.  
  
From the midst of the crowd of about nine people, walked another familiar figure.   
Peter strode quickly into the open, and at once observed what Gabby had already seen.   
Yet, her look of shock was not found on his handsome features. Sarah acknowledged the  
spiteful glares from others, and then witnessed the horrid change overcome Peter. He was  
not merely angry, but rather infuriated.  
  
He rushed forward and took hold of Sarah's hand. Others in the room whispered  
small catches of gossip, and eyed the two rushing from the room. However, Sarah  
struggled to regain control of her movements, which hindered their progress.   
Nonetheless, he hurried her into the nearest room, and slammed the door shut.  
  
"I didn't take you for a thief, Sarah," Peter accused, his eyes were a mix of intense  
emotions.  
  
Sarah shook her head in denial. She would have never taken anything. The dress  
had been forced upon her, with magic! There really had been no way to deny it, nor  
Jareth's advances for that matter. However, that was an entirely different subject  
altogether. Sarah tried to say something, anything in reply to Peter's accusations,  
however the entire situation only succeeded in fueling her anger.  
  
Sarah placed her hands on her hips, regaining strength, vitality, and even  
determination in that one assertive stance. It was with that, and a flick of her head, so as  
to allow her chestnut locks to drift across her back and away from her set face, that Peter  
recoiled and his fury dissipated, covered strangely with an odd, sort of stupor. He  
remained vague, detached, and wavering just a bit.  
  
"I would never take anything, Peter. How dare you even suggest such a thing!"  
Sarah declared, vehement with every word.  
  
Peter threw his hands into the air, and then turned, perhaps confused. He placed  
one hand, oddly paled in contrast to his tanned features, on his forehead and sat heavily  
atop the bed. He appeared worn, haggard, and considerably sick as well. Sarah's heart  
skipped, a nervous worry gripping her soul in its cold clutching fist. The same fearful  
concern traced a path down her spine, forming a shiver that raised hackles across her  
flawless flesh.  
  
"The dress, Sarah, it is not yours. It alone may be used by Kathleen, who plays  
our lead, and none other. I see no reason why you should have acquired..." Peter started,  
though the original conviction had already drained from his tired voice.  
  
"It was given to me, as a gift, if you must know!" Sarah promptly shut her mouth,  
understanding that she had now placed herself in a perilous predicament. Peter would  
shortly question her comment, and leave her without a proper answer.  
  
Peter, at last, rose from his sitting position, and approached her once more. Sarah  
shifted uncomfortably as he drew nearer. She did not know how to act, and understood  
even less about the situation. She merely wished to be let loose from the room, and  
allowed to flee to her new chambers.  
  
He reached out and took her hand gently into his own. Sarah swallowed and  
looked at their interlocked hands, wondering why, at such a sweet gesture, she felt no  
electrical shock of emotions. Instead she experienced only more confusion. That endless  
train of doubt that never ceased.  
  
Then, as if a mist of magic overtook the room, Peter was no longer there. Instead  
she found herself seeing a mere blur of a man, an outline amidst grays of indiscernible  
differences. Sarah squinted her eyes to see, but received no fruits for her struggles. She  
did, however, find herself suddenly nearer to the apparition, as the distance between their  
bodies was lessened.   
  
The foggy shape drew his face nearer, and Sarah allowed it, for something felt so  
very right, so very familiar in this. His lips pressed firmly against her own and she simply  
sunk into the feelings of passion which were lit in her soul. Sarah pulled back slightly,  
overwhelmed that Peter had made her feel that way.  
  
Yet Peter's emerald eyes did not meet her gaze, rather she saw one of crystalline  
blue and deepest chestnut. Jareth... His slender, sleek form cradled her close, as  
intoxicating kisses plunged deeper and deeper into troves of unexplored pleasures. Her  
mind fogged, and her senses warped, she allowed him to guide her ever backwards, until  
resting atop the feather-down mattress...  



	14. The Phantom Horse

Chapter Fourteen: The Phantom Horse  
  
Sarah relented without a word in protest. Sweetness flowed, surrounding every  
aspect of her being, binding her with the man who now tenderly loosened the tight buttons  
that held the bodice against her flesh. She could nearly feel the tingle of electricity and  
magic, abounding from her lover's deft fingers.  
  
She reached out with a hand, shivering, and stroked his face, producing the image  
of her lover in her mind. The finely chiseled aquiline nose, resting between two changeling  
eyes, brimmed with nearly blonde lashes, and accentuated by his elegantly arched  
eyebrows. Sarah brought the same searching hand to thread through his hair, but found  
the lustrous golden locks suddenly gone.  
  
Then he traced a hand down her sternum, guiding the crimson dress downwards,  
and nearly exposing her supple figure to the world. Sarah arched her back and suddenly,  
without warning, her dream encrusted image of the man atop her, faded, broke, and  
completely fell away. With a fear that rose from her very soul, she snapped her eyes open,  
terrified of whom had taken over her thoughts in this way.  
  
Peter raised his eyes, looking at her. Her cheeks instantly flushed and she turned  
her gaze away with a quick aversion. Sarah swallowed and pushed at the man atop her,  
trying desperately to rid herself of his weight, his presence, and the feeling that she had  
done everything wrong.  
  
"Peter, please," she begged, pushing and shoving with the last bits of her energy.  
  
He sat back, perhaps entirely shocked, or merely put out of the mood by her  
defiant behavior. Either way, Sarah immediately clutched the crimson material to her  
bosom and glared at the man, whom had once been almost considered a savior in her  
mind. Now, however, she could hardly control the heaves that threatened to force their  
way upon her.  
  
"I don't understand you, Sarah. You seem to enjoy our relationship, and then  
appear sickened by the very sight of me. What do you want? What are you hiding?   
There's some mystery that no one can discover, and I feel that it has only deepened since  
you arrived here, at Fontridge," Peter stated.  
  
Sarah placed a shivering hand to her damp forehead. Her deep brown hair, laid  
matted against the perspiration and stuck uncomfortably to her bare shoulders and face.   
She pulled a few strands from around her mouth and then shook her head, unable to even  
answer the mystery herself. He had struck so very close, too near for comfort, to what  
was bothering her, and at once Sarah retaliated with anger.  
  
"No, I don't think that you've thought a moment about what I feel, or have felt,  
but rather how you can finally control me...have me," she whispered and then rose from  
the bed abruptly to leave the constricting room, so hot and smelling of faint cologne and  
perfume.  
  
She turned the knob, but not without his presence coming forth again. A strong  
hand guided the door back to its frame, and Sarah slowly withdrew her hand from the  
golden handle. She turned her chocolate, flashing eyes upwards and glared viciously at  
Peter's attempts to keep her restrained. She did not want him guessing further as to what  
her problem was.  
  
"Let me pass!" Her voice came as venom from her ruby lips.  
  
Peter broke between her and the door, and placed his hands, rough but not  
painfully, upon her slick shoulders.  
  
"Sarah, I can help you, but not when I'm pushed aside like this. Just tell me where  
you got the dress, why you were in the room... be truthful with me and I will do  
everything in my power to help," Peter begged as he removed his smooth hands.  
  
She caught and held his emerald gaze, entirely split as to what to do, where to go,  
and what to say. Amidst all the confusion her self-preservation returned as did a burning  
anger. It was her only way to remain safe, to distance herself from the world... and all  
who dwelled in it, even those who cared.  
  
She tried to brush past him, at last turning her eyes to the ground. Despite her  
attempts, there was no breaking free. Peter would not be left in the dark any longer. He  
was, after all, her employer, and had been understanding. Still, she was unable to see his  
true intentions and forced out another bitter comment.  
  
"What do 'you' want Peter? Why create a play, hire actors, and only write at  
night? Or, am I not important enough to ask such an overwhelming question?" she  
inquired.  
  
With that Peter visibly weakened. He slumped backwards, if only slightly, and  
stepped away from the door. Sarah nearly felt a pain of guilt flash within herself, at the  
obvious damage she had inflicted. However, her opportunity of freedom was a more  
enticing prospect than mucking in silly feelings of compassion for someone who... She  
would not allow herself to dwell on what was lost.  
  
With Peter still humbled, and head hung in silent self-damnation, Sarah skirted past  
and drew open the large, wooden door. She almost said something, hesitating with her  
hand still resting on the golden door knob, but found herself speechless. She was entirely  
aware that the scene that had played out in the room had been observed, and carefully, by  
the other actors still waiting.  
  
Sarah only briefly looked at Peter, and the anger that had replaced his original  
concern. He shook his head, ever so slowly and deliberately, to assure Sarah's seeing the  
movement, and then brushed his hand through the air, dismissing her from the room.   
Sarah did not need this formal invitation, for she had already hurried through the doorway.  
  
Instantly she was out in the open, her dress worse for the wear, and hanging quite  
seductively off her shoulders, baring the top of her bosom to the whole world, or rather  
those of the actors that turned to look at the bedraggled Sarah. She opened her deep, but  
reddened, eyes to the crowd and shuddered, feeling her bareness to the very core of her  
being. At the head of the others stood the blonde actor, whom had been so vicious when  
last they met, a cocky smirk resting on his face as he began snickering. In one quick  
swoop, she gathered the many skirts under her and rushed blindly down the first hall that  
she found, leaving laughter behind herself.  
  
Sarah cringed, knowing that no matter what she did, she would always lose. It  
was utterly hopeless, fighting the entire world in this way. If all believed her to be an utter  
failure, then it was best to admit it to herself, and discontinue the harsh steps she took to  
barely manage an acceptable survival. Tears followed this revelation, and blurred her  
surroundings as she ran.  
  
To simply top off her morning, one of the long gauzy trails of the dress, slipped  
from her clutching hands and caught beneath her foot. Sarah tumbled forward, unable to  
emit a single sound of protest as the ground connected with her elbows, and then her  
chest. She moaned, and then gasped, the air completely gone from her lungs in that one  
swift fall.  
  
"I just want them to suffer as I have, I want them to know what they've done to  
me!" Sarah sobbed.  
  
She shivered uncontrollably and slowly, her entire body feeling weak and unable to  
abide by her commands, rose to a sitting position. Sarah cringed at the shock of blood  
that had covered her exposed elbows. The dress' long sleeves were torn, perhaps beyond  
any hope of repair. Such a masterpiece, and she had ruined it as well. It seemed that  
anything that came into her grasps suffered, at the very least.  
  
She wiped at the blood and then placed the same stained hand down on the  
stone-covered ground. Nearby a trickling ray of filtered sunshine touched the ground, but  
Sarah knew that it would soon fade. There was quite a storm outside. Thunder rumbled  
nearby, and the first sounds of rain struck the pane near her side.  
  
Slowly, but deliberately, the light faded to nothing, leaving her chilled in the semi  
darkness, save the gentle luminance from the overhead lamps that lined the long corridor.   
Sarah glanced warily towards the window, her breath still hitching, but what few tears she  
had shed, were promptly dried at the rumbling thunder. It seemed to be coming nearly  
from overhead, and shortly later she caught the first glimpse of lightning's eerie white  
light.  
  
Sarah sniffed back her emotions, and carefully rose to her feet. She cringed in  
pain, her knees screaming in agony as they stiffened and finally both popped in unison.   
Her elbows had at last dulled to a throbbing ache, which was, at least, bearable. She drew  
back the wine-colored drapes, formed from crushed velvet, and gazed out into the wilds of  
the storm.  
  
It had grown as dark as night, leaving only a scant gray twilight to filter through  
the heavy clouds overhead. Their massive rolling bellies, bulged with rain, threatening to  
break out at any moment and completely drown the country side. However, only a few  
sprinkling splashes of water remained upon the window, not the torrential downpour that  
Sarah mentally forecasted.  
  
Another flash of lighting traced across the violent-looking sky. It's eerie white  
illumination cast across Fontridge's grand yard, making it seem almost like an intense  
moonlight. She looked downwards as the lightning faded, and found a whiteness that  
remained behind.  
  
A phantasmal horse bowed gently in the gusting wind, which ripped at the woods  
that surrounded the mansion. It's silver mane and tail flowed and tangled in the mighty  
blows, but it braced itself, head down low, but eyes fixed upon....  
  
Sarah immediately dropped the delicate drape and pressed her back firmly against  
the wooden wall. She placed a single trembling hand upon her mouth, trying to contain  
the utter turmoil of thoughts, doubts, and fears that rested upon her weakened psyche.   
The horse had looked at her, had actually acknowledged her as if trying to communicate in  
some lowly form.  
  
She turned her head, only slightly, just so as to see out of the crack of window that  
was left open from the obtrusive curtain. Still she could see the equine's figure, swaying  
in the wind, but still fixated upon the window, and still silently begging Sarah to do as her  
heart yearned. Sarah, however, cast away her inner feelings and turned to run from the  
apparition and unnerving thoughts.  
  
"What am I thinking?" Sarah asked herself as she paused and glanced back,  
knowing that still the horse was standing outside, looking at the window.  
  
She lowered her own head at that thought, which swayed her original decision of  
retreat. There was something out there, and the mystery surrounding it held Sarah  
prisoner in a mist of uncertainty. She could not deny the urging gaze of the silent ethereal  
steed, waiting in the storm.  
  
Sarah cast away the curtain, tearing it completely from its hanging rod. It landed  
in a crumpled heap, as if spilled wine upon the stone floor. Only a few inches from it,  
Sarah's own blood had marked the gray ground, leaving the immaculate Fontridge worse  
for the wear.   
  
"I'm coming," Sarah called, and glanced about her to assure herself that no one  
else was watching this strange act of obvious insanity.  
  
She pulled the heavy window open, praying that it would remain stationary, so that  
she would not face a certainly humorous situation of being stuck in the frame. However,  
what with Fontridge's pristine condition, never once did the immaculate window slide  
back down, even when Sarah rapped her injured elbow against the wooden molding at the  
base.  
  
The horse reared as lightning cast its light upon the land. Sarah screamed in  
shock, and tumbled from the ledge, plummeting nearly five feet until landing in the midst  
of the thick, trimmed hedges surrounding most of the mansion. Her dress, torn and  
tattered from the abuse it had received, did not even resemble the original crimson  
masterpiece that Sarah had primarily seen the night prior.  
  
"Wait," Sarah called, pulling herself free from the catching twigs, which scratched  
at her chest and legs ruthlessly.  
  
She tripped from the bush, landing in a heap upon the ground. Even with the scant  
touch of rain, mud puddles had already formed, and now splashed upon the many layers of  
skirts. Sarah ignored it all, and rose to her legs, determined to follow this strange horse to  
whatever mystery it held.  
  
Yet, just as she reached out one single tentative hand to stroke the wild mare's  
muzzle, she shied away, and promptly pivoted around on her hind legs. With a fury of  
strides, the horse galloped further into the forest, spraying mud and bits of grass at Sarah's  
bare feet.   
  
Her face broke into utter despair. This had been her final hope, a horse?? Had she  
truly believed that the simple gray mare held some divine answer to all her problems that  
circulated through her life? Sarah sunk dismally to the ground, sitting in the middle of one  
puddle, just as the rain began to patter down from overhead.  
  
"Sarah," the voice called, almost an echo, but she heard it despite the gentle  
qualities.  
  
Sarah at once lifted her head, and wiped away the tears, which had blended already  
with the raindrops dripped from her matted hair. She tossed her long chestnut hair over  
her shoulders, spraying a stream of water in the process, and focused on the gentle voice,  
which had come from the forest.  
  
With another burst of hope, Sarah forced herself from the puddle, tugging at her  
heavy garments, which had only been weighed down more from the excess water. She  
struggled through the trees, and thick undergrowth. Everything tore at her precious  
gown, leaving remnants of crimson material strewn throughout the forest.  
  
"Please, please wait. I... I can't," Sarah begged, lurching forward to grasp a thick  
tree as she nearly collapsed once again.  
  
From some distance, though Sarah was no longer capable of judging in the heavy  
rain, the lovely gray mare broke through the browns and greens of the woods. She threw  
her noble head, casting sparkling trails of water from her flowing mane. Sarah watched,  
eyes widened in awe and anticipation. Surely this was a sign, and Sarah was meant to  
follow the horse.  
  
She hurried onwards, following right at the heels of the mare at times, but mostly  
remained nearly out of sight of the magnificent animal. Still, Sarah diligently plowed  
through the thick branches, dragging her drenched garments through the sticky mud.   
With every step, the dress seemed heavier, gathering debris as she continued on, without  
an end in sight.  
  
Then, as if the heavens themselves had suddenly found the need to punish the  
lowly mortals for their sins, a cascade of lightning sputtered down, striking a tree  
somewhere nearer to the mansion. Sarah spun about, and watched in horror as a massive  
array of sparks jumped into the dark sky, most extinguished instantly by the torrential flow  
of rain, pummeling the woods. However, a few splintered bits of the struck tree, lit upon  
others, dried for one reason or another, and a sputtering flame leapt into the air, defying  
all rationale by burning in the midst of the rain.  
  
Sarah turned back, finding herself hopelessly behind the mare, and lost as well.   
She knew, despite her best attempts, she would never make it back to Fontridge. This left  
but one choice, to continue on after the horse. This, after all, was at least a plan, no  
matter how stupid and thoughtless it seemed.  
  
Sarah paused and sighed deeply. The horse had led her to a dead end, where the  
trees and bushes completely blocked off any hopes of making a way through. She tried to  
push aside several branches, thick with needles and leaves, but was unable to so much as  
make a bit of headway. Instantly another branch would slide downwards, and cover the  
hole in the foliage wall.  
  
"Fine!" Sarah screamed through the rain, and the wind, and the thunder which  
roared directly overhead.  
  
It seemed as if the world itself was undergoing its Armageddon. The sky had  
changed to an eerie shade, almost green in its dark complexion. Sarah shivered, feeling  
suddenly the freezing wind against her wet body, and through her dripping hair. Even her  
eyelashes were beaded with rainwater.  
  
Sarah hiked up the skirts and then dug her feet into the dense wall of trees and  
bushes. She gripped handfuls of limbs, and pulled herself upwards, straining against the  
added weight of rain, mud and material. The rain pounded, almost trying to fight to keep  
her down and away from what exactly was past this particular natural phenomenon.  
  
Sarah cringed in pain, her elbows flaring as the rain bit into the raw flesh. The  
stitches upon her wrists pulled, threatening to tear the newly healed wounds. Even the  
bandages, stained as they were, had begun to unravel and dangle down from her arms.   
  
With one final burst of strength, Sarah grabbed the top of the "wall" and gazed  
over, to see what she had struggled to reach. Her chocolate eyes opened wide in shock  
and amazement, at the sight that laid before her.  
  
It rested nearly in the open, though one could only witness the sight after trekking  
through the thick woods. Massive rock walls, reaching nearly three stories in some  
places, and crumbled to only scattered bits of dust in others, surrounded a vast area. An  
old metal door, rusted and beyond any hope of repair, laid overgrown with shrubbery and  
patchy moss.   
  
Directly before the broken door, stood the mare, her mane whipping in the wind  
and rain slipping down her soft coat. She turned and gazed at Sarah, and then tossed her  
head. Her job had been done, and she galloped off into the forest, disappearing after a few  
scant moments.  
  
Sarah looked back at what she had found and took in a deep, ragged breath. They  
were ruins of some massive estate and, frighteningly enough, resembled the Goblin King's  
castle.  
  



	15. I Know Who You Are...

Chapter Fifteen: "I Know Who You Are..."  
  
Jareth clenched his teeth, his changeling eyes frozen upon the horrendous scene  
unfurling within the magical body of the crystal orb. The magical sphere rested lightly  
upon his lithe hand, revolving ever so slowly. Within its misty depths, flashed the tattered,  
wet, and soiled figure of a young woman, clothed in a ballgown that had once been an  
elegant crimson shade. However, now it had dulled to a strange muddy collage of debris,  
lacking quite a bit of the original fabric, which had ripped off through the night escapades.  
  
The crystal had shown him quite easily what had lured Sarah from Fontridge, at  
the moment when she had been so very close. Her emotional walls tumbling beneath the  
weight of heated conflicts and a battered psyche, had nearly let loose the original bright  
imagination and fantasy driven spirit that she had shut away. Jareth could almost reach  
out, with one leather clad hand, and brush his fingertips across the iridescent soul hovering  
so near to the realm of fantasy and dreams.   
  
However, it had been for naught. The damned beast, who had been doomed for  
ages already, had resurfaced and drawn Sarah, unknowingly, into the unforgiving forest.   
The ruins would soon lure her further, closer to a truth that needed to remain hidden,  
deeply at that.   
  
Jareth clutched his other hand tightly into a fist and slammed it down upon the arm  
of his throne. The entire room seemed to shake at his might, and several wandering  
goblins cowered in darkened corners, reliving past days of torment they had faced at the  
hand of the angered king.  
  
With a single flick of his wrist, the crystal dissipated to nothingness, leaving his  
palm bare. He sat, paused in the midst of raising from the throne to act upon some  
spontaneous decision that had been formed in the heat of his fury, and waited to calm. To  
act without thought would be the gravest mistake, and would cast away what scant chance  
remained to bring her back, to take her home.  
  
Sarah's entity, the entire dreamer's soul that she held in the hardened human  
carcass, that was what he fought for. Even while she believed herself to be winning,  
perhaps nearly triumphing over the demon which grew within her, Jareth could see her  
straggling behind. Yet, she would accept no aid from him, and would not use the gift he  
had granted upon her. Although the latter had been done without any knowledge on  
Sarah's part.  
  
With that final lingering thought, a brief whispered wish, darkened by hate and  
uncontrollable loss, drifted past his ears. She had said something, following her frantic  
dash from those callous actors with whom she chose to remain, and her unfortunate fall.   
He lingered on it briefly, and then, without warning, tasted the words as he uttered them  
with his own richly accented voice.  
  
"You want them to suffer as you have, Sarah?" Jareth asked carefully and then  
allowed a smile to cross his aquiline features.  
  
He, at last, allowed himself to vacate the comfort of his throne. Such a wish as  
that could not be easily passed up and, with her further delving into secrets usually hidden  
within her soul, so she would become easier to harness, and reclaim as his own. The one  
that had so stolen his soul, had also been the only one to stride defiantly from his world,  
and back to her own.  
  
"Sarah, we will not be away from each other much longer," Jareth whispered, and  
he allowed laughter to grace the throne room.  
  
All the goblins at once turned to face the king, glad to see him in such elated  
moods. They at once, obediently, joined in with the mirth, adding their own hallow  
giggles to Jareth's rich voice. They continued far after Jareth had left, and still chuckled  
briefly when they had forgotten what had incited the pleasant mood. Then, at last, the  
goblins stopped.  
  
Jareth, however, had other duties to attend to. He walked, though his strides were  
brisk and lengthy, offering the illusion of a jog. In only a few short moments, he reached  
the window, and, leaping in a fury of his black leather cape, emerged a different form  
altogether. With a few powerful beats of his now feathered wings, Jareth surged into the  
darkened sky.   
  
Overhead, it seemed, that a storm had begun to brew...  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Gabrielle walked silently down the darkened hallway, listening in fear as the storm  
raged on outside. The lights had failed, leaving the entire mansion dismal, and black as  
pitch. The only illumination now, was offered by the scintillating candlestick, resting atop  
the golden saucer, which Gabby held.  
  
Her hands shook, which did not help the current state of the flickering flame. As it  
was, only the briefest area was lit by orange light. Nonetheless, the scant amount of  
highlights, were enough to cast strange shadows and form wraith-like apparitions.  
Gabrielle shivered and wrapped her free arm about her waist.  
  
"Sarah?" the young fiery haired woman called, though her voice lacked any  
stentorian qualities.  
  
There was, of course, no answer to her grievous calls into the dark abyss of  
nothingness which laid directly ahead. Only when the candle light grew near enough, did  
Gabrielle see what waited for her. Once again, the unnerving thoughts attacked her  
frightened soul. It was not intelligent to be out, when such a storm reaped control over  
the sky, and electricity.  
  
A series of strange, gagging noises, followed by a scuffle, as if someone was  
fighting with another, drifted through the inky blackness. Gabrielle gasped, and spun  
around, facing a door, opened only slightly. It gave way into a well lit room, filled with  
orange glows from dozens of burning candles.  
  
"Hello?" Gabby asked, placing a shaking hand atop the smooth wood that had  
been crafted into this oversized door.  
  
Once again, no one responded to her voice, nor did they regard her presence with  
their own. However, Gabrielle still, persistent as always, forged her way onward and  
swung open the door. It moved without a touch of resistance, and instantly revealed a   
room, much like the one in which Gabby herself resided, for the time being.  
  
Gabrielle peered around the door frame, but still saw no one inside who could have  
possibly made the noise. Still, she was not quite prepared to venture into the darkness  
once more, having finally found solace in the well lit chamber. The bed itself looked  
comforting, though the lack of any and all other people attacked her already heightened  
nerves.   
  
Gabrielle strolled into the room, glancing momentarily at the fluttering drapes,  
which promptly laid flat against the closed window. She stopped, not sure whether  
continuing into the odd room had been her most intelligent decision. The gauzy drapes  
were merely an addition to the entire unnerving essence that captured the whole dwelling.  
  
"Sarah, Peter? Anyone...?" Gabrielle asked, circling about as she spoke.  
  
Her voice came out as a mere whisper, nothing that anyone would ever hear,  
unless they had been standing at her side. Gooseflesh broke out upon her arms, and her  
neck crawled with a shivering tingle. The chamber had suddenly dropped in temperature,  
leaving her literally struck by an ice-encrusted chill.  
  
Somewhere in the distance, although it was impossible to tell in Fontridge's vast  
expanse, a high-pitched scream drove through the thick blackness as a knife through  
butter. Gabrielle jumped, nearly losing her precarious grip on sanity, and the guttering  
candle at the same time. Her heart erupted into overwhelming palpitations which  
succeeded in gracing her with a nauseous feeling.  
  
"God," Gabby remarked, and instantly spun from her position before the drapes, to  
run from the accursed room.  
  
In only two brief steps, and not barely enough time to glance at the sudden  
impenetrable force which pushed her back, Gabrielle found herself on her back, the candle  
laying beside her. Her crowning locks of red hair framed her ashen face. Wide eyes, the  
color of emeralds, instantly snapped open to acknowledge who had thrown her to the  
ground.  
  
Her lips trembled, and she shook her head, trying in desperation to make her way  
from this mysterious dark shape. She scrabbled backwards, all the while clutching for a  
hand hold, a weapon for defense, anything that could aid her in her vulnerable situation.   
However, her grasping palms found only smooth, bare wooden floor, waxed to a shining  
perfection and occasionally graced with a navy or hunter rug.  
  
"Please," Gabby whispered, warm tears finding their ways to her brightened green  
eyes.  
  
The figure stopped, and cocked its head to one side, as if regarding this being at its  
feet for what she was, a human. The velvet hood that rested over the dark one's face, was  
gracefully guided off, to reveal the monster that Gabby now faced.  
  
However, she was taken aback at the sight which befell her. A monster was not  
displayed before her, but rather an angel, or a Fae king at the very least. His blonde locks  
of hair hung about his noble face. Surely a more beautiful man had never been born.   
Momentarily Gabrielle was devoid of her original fear, as she basked in this stranger's  
utter glory.  
  
"Gabrielle, come with me," the radiant being stated, holding out a gloved hand.  
  
She gazed up into his eyes, captivated by their contrasting shades. One was of the  
truest sapphire, as if constructed from a spring sky, or the clearest lake; the other  
enveloped by brazen fire, crimson highlights, and mysterious chestnut depths. They  
possessed more magic than any fairy story that Gabrielle had ever dared to read, and also  
held such an alluring captivity. Never had her childhood bed time tales told of such sexual  
appeal, that was possessed by this magical man.  
  
Without a single moment of hesitation, Gabrielle raised up from her position upon  
the floor, and took the Fae's hand. He smiled, now offering more of his true mischievous  
characteristics as the grin passed over his regal features. Gabby backed away, pulling a bit  
at their interlocked hands. She had not known, and now it was too late.  
  
"No....I know who you are," Gabby whispered, her mouth slack and her eyes  
covered in a thick shield of utter horror.  
  
Jareth allowed the smug grin to toy with her emotions, if only for the briefest time.   
Then, he leaned in, closer. Far too close to resist. The woman was without the ability to  
speak, to form coherent thoughts, much less tell of his true identity. He brushed his  
gloved hand across her creamy skin, and then brought his mouth beside her ear.  
  
"My dear, you have no idea who I am," Jareth stated and then produced a perfect  
sparkling orb from the air.  
  
He offered it to Gabrielle, who took the present silently. As a lamb, meek and  
trusting. Such sweet innocence, and such an easy spirit to win over, captivate with a few  
choice endearing motions. If only Sarah had been so simple.   
  
No, it would not have enticed him as much, had she groveled at his feet much the  
same as most young women who happened into his presence. His strange alluring nature  
drove them to the brink of sanity, encompassed entirely with pure animal desires. Many  
he had taken in that form, and many more would come, of that he was certain. However,  
it was the one he yearned to have under his control. The one who had escaped him.  
  
Gabrielle's expression went blank as she gazed into the flickering orb. Her eyes  
glazed and she fell against Jareth's strong shoulder. However, not once did her gaze  
falter, but rather remained fixed and blank. She was in the daydream, in the world he had  
crafted with delicate dream-woven fantasies.  
  
Jareth guided her to the bed, covered in a silken comforter, and set the comatose  
woman atop the downy mattress. She would not wake, nor would she stir until he so  
allowed it. Jareth allowed a bitter smile to cover his thin lips and then turned, to gaze  
into the darkness. Soon the storm would end, and the lights would return, and most  
would believe everything returned to normal.  
  
In an eruption of faint trickling purple light, Gabby's figure faded away. The  
comforter still held the slight impression of a body, which had only just rested atop the  
bed. Now, however, the only thing left was a pellucid outline, drifting through the  
shimmering violet highlights.  
  
Then, as if nothing had ever happened in that room, the entire fantastic incantation  
ceased to exist. It very nearly fell in on itself, as if rushing through some invisible opening  
in reality to the realms of the Underground. Gabrielle too, had disappeared with the violet  
illumination. A scant drifting touch of crushed crystals and other precious gems covered  
the floor, and the bed, making it seem as if someone had sprayed the entire place with  
handfuls of glitter.  
  
Jareth could nearly see the young woman, now laying in one of the chambers in his  
expansive castle. She would be in the daydream still, overcome by hopelessly intertwined  
spells that took control of her fragile human mind.   
  
He laughed at this and then glided, like a ghost, out the door and into the black  
hallway.  
  
Sarah had received her wish, at least partly. He could not take them all, though he  
certainly wished that that could be done. Without the actors, there would be no play, and  
Sarah would never receive her most intimate, innermost fantasy. Jareth paused in the  
darkness, almost questioning what he had done, and then shook the doubt away with a  
sweep of his hand. It was not time to reconsider, but rather to act.  
  
The torpid mortals deserved not his kindness, but rather his actions had all been  
done for Sarah, for her wish, and for that alluring light that flickered still in her darkened  
soul. He reached out for her, but found nothing, only that of the storm and the ruins  
which she now approached, apprehension devoid from her imaginative mind.  
  
"Beware of what you find, my dear," Jareth stated somberly and then abruptly  
continued on down the hall, his leather cape flowing behind his rapid movements.  
  
A gust of wind struck the mansion, whistling and moaning through small drafty  
areas, which could not be helped in the old estate. The storm had reached its zenith,  
poised directly above Fontridge, as if directing the assault upon the forsaken place.   
However, the calm would soon follow, leaving nerves near an exploding point....  
  
...and three people missing.  



	16. Emelia Fontridge

Chapter Sixteen: Emelia Fontridge  
  
Sarah clutched the chipped, and slick bricks that formed the ancient wall, with  
numb fingers. Her entire hand lacked most feeling, as did the major portion of her body.   
After the rain had subsided, deeply frigid wind had taken the opportunity to attack. She  
shivered uncontrollably and the dress hung like icicles about her chest.  
  
Nonetheless, the deterrence would not hinder her progress towards the center of  
the ruins. Never had she seen such a piece of history, hidden away from the rest of the  
world by the expanse of forest. Despite the distance between it and civilization, still the  
walls had crumbled, and the door laid rusted on the muddy ground.  
  
"Wh-wh-why...?" Sarah tried to ask the phantom horse, though she knew very  
well that the animal had left quite some time ago.  
  
She was unable to speak, for her blue-tinged lips worked awkwardly, denying her  
control over them. Without warning, another vicious onslaught of icy wind cut like a  
knife through the barricade of trees. Sarah recoiled behind the wall nearest to her, but  
found little solace in its ancient masonry. She slumped to the ground, clutching her arms  
around her knees in attempt to gather what little warmth still remained with her.  
  
It seemed that, despite her determination, she would not succeed in seeing what  
the horse had been so forceful about. There had to be something more than simple ruins.   
For there was nothing more to learn here than a brief history lesson about the previous  
occupants of the crumbling remains. Perhaps one day, long ago, it had been a grand  
estate, but not any longer.  
  
Sarah huddled into the one remaining corner, which conjoined the two tallest  
walls. This offered the most shelter that could be possible in such an open area. Sarah  
squirmed against the bricks, slopping mud over her legs in the process.   
  
Her numbed knee struck one loosened brick, and a flare of pain died away  
instantly. The skin no longer felt, nor did it hurt. Sarah looked dumbly down towards her  
injury, which had begun to trickle blood, ever so slowly. Bright crimson beads, the shade  
that her dress had once been, mingled with the pattering remnants of rain and slipped  
delicately to the forest floor.  
  
*What?* she thought, knowing already that to speak would prove only useless.  
  
The brick she had struck, had slipped slightly, giving way to a dark hole in the  
midst of the wall. Never had she guessed the walls to be that thick, but obviously she had  
been wrong. Sarah grabbed the heavy brick several times, fumbling with her  
uncooperative fingers against the slick surface.  
  
At long last it glided to the mud, raising a stream of droplets which splattered her  
already soiled face. Sarah wiped at several specks of mud, but only succeeded in smearing  
them across her cheek and forehead, but then paid them no attention. What good would it  
do, for she was stuck in the elements, hopelessly lost, and in the midst of a freezing storm.  
  
Still, her curiosity had been sparked, and she (once again) found her determination  
raising its ugly head within her soul. Curiosity and determination, they were both her  
downfalls. Without a thought about what could be lurking in the dark hole that laid  
exposed in the side of the wall, Sarah probed inside with one slender hand.  
  
Instantly she felt something, quite out of the ordinary at that. She furrowed her  
brow, trying desperately to convince her hands to grasp the object, despite how awkward  
and heavy it was. In one final pleading moment, she firmly caught the corner of the  
mysterious treasure, and pulled it free, missing the mud by mere inches.  
  
"B-b-b...," Sarah stuttered, her teeth chattering as another unrelenting gust tore at  
her interesting find.  
  
*Book, book!* her mind demanded, but her lips would not comply.  
  
It was luck that the steady sprinkle of raindrops ceased at that moment, leaving the  
book safe in the open. The thing appeared to be ancient, and the reason for its good  
appearance puzzled Sarah more than finding it in the wall. Surely those who lived in the  
estate had found their own hiding places for precious items. However, it had been so  
long, and she believed that the pages would have long ago crumbled to dust.  
  
The cover, made from a rich burgundy shade of crushed velvet, appeared worn,  
which was the only evidence of the item's actual age. She could only guess at when this  
book had been new, or when it had been hidden, or why it had been forgotten as the grand  
mansion slowly tumbled to the ground, relenting to the years and lack of attention. Or  
perhaps...  
  
Sarah opened the cover to gaze in awe at the intricate network of spiraling vines,  
embossed in gold, which decorated the simple front page. In the center of the artwork a  
name had been scripted, in fine slanting penmanship. It too bore the same golden  
appearance as the vines.  
  
Her shock was evident, as her mouth dropped and her breath hitched in. Sarah  
clasped the book closed, and slammed it down upon the brick that had slipped to the mud  
puddle beside her. The name, the name simply could not be. It didn't make any sense.  
  
However, it had been there, and Sarah relented as she stroked the velvet cover  
with a single shaking finger. These ruins were, by far, Fontridge's elder, and could have  
very well been vacant at the time of the other mansion's youth. In that sense, such a place  
would prove a fabulous hiding spot, as well as a secret, silent get-away.  
  
*Emelia Fontridge. Were you the girl Gabrielle told me about?* Sarah thought,  
entirely encompassed by the past, and the taste of history which sat directly beside her.   
The book seemed so inconspicuous, bearing a few spattered dots of mud upon its lovely  
cover.  
  
With a shaking breath, which produced a fine cloud of vapor in the chilled air,  
Sarah lifted the large book into her hands once again, avoiding her damp clothes in the  
process. Once again curiosity would get the better of her; she would be forced to look at  
the ancient book that had once belonged to a young girl, living far from everyone else, in a  
lovely fairytale mansion. She must have been miserable.  
  
Sarah paused once again on the first page, still amazed at how well skilled the  
young Emelia had been with the pen. Her name seemed to be a piece of art, crafted upon  
the paper, and fitted into letters which formed her lovely name. Sarah almost managed a  
smile, but her lips convulsed as she pulled them tight. She bit them for control and  
perhaps to blow some of the warmth from her air over their numbness.  
  
Then, her hands shaking, but not entirely from the frigid weather, she turned the  
cover page. Sarah stared scrutinizing at the next yellowed, thick sheet of paper. Atop  
was a date, done in the same vine-like calligraphy as had been present on the first.   
Directly below that, Emelia had begun to write.  
  
*Her diary,* Sarah thought.  
  
She had given up on conversational speech, finding it much easier to think than try  
to make her numb lips form coherent words. She swallowed deeply, now unsure about  
continuing on, in fear of rampaging in on some adolescent's deepest, darkest secrets, and  
everything that had been special to her. Sarah sighed, debating the pros and cons in her  
overactive mind.  
  
The girl had been dead for quite some time, and surely that would give Sarah every  
right to go ahead and read. After all, many people had read Anne Frank's diary. It was  
practically required in most every highschool. That had been the same secrets and feelings  
as were found in this.  
  
Sarah touched the page as she thought and briefly went over the first sentence,  
considering still if she dared to continue. However, after finishing it any and all questions  
the ethics surrounding this situation, even though Emelia had been deceased for some  
time, were cast away.  
  
"I have met Hell today. The grand spectacle of Fontridge Manor may seem like an  
answer to father and mother, but I find the estate dark...foreboding. I wish to return  
nearer the town, and leave the damp, stormy weather found in the bleak countryside.   
There is little hope for my plight, and my only solace lies in the comfort of the woods, so  
mysterious and ancient. Father and Mother would not approve of my wandering through  
their many trials daily, but they have yet to discover my well-hidden secret," at that Sarah  
stopped her reading and glanced around.  
  
Emelia had been captivated by the woods as well. Her mind worked in ways  
similar to Sarah's own. Another unnerving shiver worked its way down Sarah's spine. It  
was time to leave, or else she could easily fall ill, lost in the largely overgrown forest.   
  
Sarah forced herself to raise, clasping the diary firmly in her hands as she made her  
way through the sticky mud puddles, and deeper pools of water, some of which she found  
reaching to the midline of her calf. The icy water, and attacking wind, did not hinder  
Sarah, even as she scaled the foliage wall, and gradually (as if led by some unknown divine  
intervention) made her way back to Fontridge.  
  
A blackened area, perhaps only a dozen acres in circumference, was the only  
evidence of the fire Sarah had witnessed ignite. Gray ash lumped around one fallen tree,  
evidence that it had succumbed to the power of the flames, however short lived they had  
been. She skirted the entire devastated area.  
  
Sarah could not begin to estimate at how long she had been out in the forest, or  
subject to the intense weather, but merely knew that her entire body felt far too heavy, and  
her muscles ached. She trudged on, dragging the heavy ruined dress, just another added  
weight.   
  
Her bare feet, torn blistered and bloodied from countless harsh rocks and thorn  
ridden vines, stung relentlessly with each agonizing step. Even her legs felt as if they  
would collapse beneath her, lacking any strength. She stumbled briefly, falling against a  
near by oak tree, and striking her should against the rough bark.  
  
"Help...h-help," Sarah struggled, her voice raspy and barely audible over the  
roaring wind.  
  
She clutched the diary close to her chest, thinking not about the wet material  
which would soak the old, delicate pages. The ink had lasted this long, and she could only  
hope that it would continue to remain in its near mint condition. The cover now had  
darkened when exposed to the wetness of her dress, and seemed almost purple, instead of  
the lovely shade it had been before.  
  
She slunk, unrelenting, to the muddy floor. The puddle resting at the base of the  
large ancient oak, greeted her sinking body. It laid amidst the massive roots, which jutted  
forth from muddy soil. Sarah folded her legs beneath her, ignoring the pins and needles  
that attacked at the presence of the icy water.  
  
"H-help," she begged, unable to speak any longer, but rather forced a series of  
raspy breaths from her vocal chords.  
  
However, at her pleas the wind died, leaving the woods in an eerie moment of  
calmness. All around darkness still presided, and the heavy gray clouds overhead  
remained. Still, it seemed warmer, if only a few scant degrees. Somewhere in the distance  
a light, purest white in its shade, began to form and creep ever closer to Sarah's exhausted  
form.  
  
She watched in awe, and terror. Fearing that this thing had come to claim her, and  
take her from the living. She shuddered, unable to control the convulsive shivers which  
gripped her every muscle in a sudden icy clench. She huddled against the tree. However,  
little protection was offered from the ever approaching light.  
  
"No," Sarah thought, her mind trying in desperation to convince her body to rise  
and run, flee from the potential threat of danger.  
  
She was helpless, and merely watched as the illumination paused, only a few feet in  
front of her now. Sarah turned her widened eyes upwards, realizing for the first time that  
a strange blur had begun to cover her vision. Perhaps her time of suffering had ended, and  
at last she would be at peace. Sarah allowed a brief relief to pass over her emotions, and  
slumped against the tree.  
  
A hand broke through the barrier of white light, and touched a stray strand of her  
matted chestnut locks. They hung, dripping sullenly down her ashen face. Sarah recoiled  
from the tender touch and gazed, frightened, at the figure whom now stood, domineering  
before her.  
  
"J-J-Jareth," Sarah stuttered, her hoarseness only slightly louder than silence.  
  
He smiled, appearing resplendent as he always did. A cocky grin spread across his  
countenance, and slightly pointed teeth flashed in a predatory light. Sarah shook her head,  
and grasped for some form of a handhold against the tall tree behind her. She did not wish  
to be in Jareth's debt. Even if it meant death.  
  
'....Certain death...ohhhh," memories of the labyrinth suddenly bombarded her  
fragile mind.  
  
"'You can't take anything for granted...'"  
  
Her mind spun feverishly in odd spiraling formation of thoughts. She grasped for  
coherency, but found the results horribly lacking. And the onslaught continued.  
  
"'That's your opinion'...  
  
'And you Sarah, how are you enjoying my labyrinth?'...   
  
'A piece of cake'..."  
  
A seductive grin, leaning in to entice her with certain feelings of attraction. He had  
known from the beginning how to send her heart fluttering madly. Even now, drenched  
and relenting to the cold, Jareth edged nearer and stroked her icy face with his leather  
gloved hand.  
  
"Come, Sarah," he spoke with a sigh, as if suddenly defeated when he had been so  
very far ahead.  
  
At that moment, when he lifted her into his strong arms, she found consciousness  
slipping away. Perhaps it had been the effect of such intense magic overcoming her  
weakened body, but Sarah did not experience the journey to Fontridge, nor did she realize  
how she managed to find her way to her room.  
  
However, the feelings of lips, tender and coursing with unbridled magic, upon her  
forehead, was unmistakable. The memory sat with her, even as she rolled over in a warm,  
comforting bed, and drifted off into a deep sleep.  
  
  



	17. Eyes of the Fae... part 1

Chapter Seventeen, part 1: Eyes of the Fae  
  
Sarah rolled over, and moaned as a sharp object jutted painfully into her tender  
back. In fact, that was not the only pain she was suffering as she rose from deep slumber.   
She fluttered her sleep-fogged eyes open, cringing against the onslaught of sun which  
suddenly burst into her vision without warning. She realized, trying to sit up, that her  
entire body ached in a dull throbbing agony.  
  
"What...what happened?" her voice came out as a mere croak, terribly hoarse, and  
during the rehearsals!  
  
Sarah glanced down at herself in disgust. She was covered in grime, and her hair  
hung in sickening tangled masses, filled with twigs and chunks of crusted dirt. The dress,  
if one could still call it that, had been ripped, shredded, and torn to rags, and then covered  
in the same dark mud that she found on her skin. The bandaged which once bound the  
wounds on her wrists, fell in crumpled heaps on her lap, bloodied and soiled. Even her  
feet were bruised, and held the evidence of dried blood around several clotted lacerations.  
  
Her mind, however, was a blank as to what had happened the night prior.   
Obviously something horrid. There had been a horrendous storm, she knew that much to  
be true. The memory of lightning coursing across the dark sky, and rain pelting violently  
to the ground, was still fresh. However, why would such an adventure be completely lost,  
as it most evidently was.  
  
Sarah moved to swing her feet over the edge of the bed, which was surprisingly  
devoid of any dirt and grime, but only managed in knocking a mysterious object to the  
ground. It landed with a dull thump, and instantly the slightly damp cover fell open,  
revealing finely interwoven gold vines, surrounding an equally intricate name.  
  
"Emelia?" Sarah pondered, tasting the name as if it were some fine wine.  
  
This struck a memory, hidden somewhere beneath a cloud of forgetfulness. Of  
course, the book obviously had belonged to the girl, but where had she found the thing to  
begin with.   
  
"There was a wall, fallen down and... and a dark nook where it had been hidden.   
Some secret hiding place out in...," Sarah stopped her pointless jabbering and her jaw  
dropped as remembrance struck with all the power of a tidal wave.  
  
She fumbled with words, trying to break the unnerving nature of all the  
circumstances, but was unable to say a thing. She knew very little about returning to  
Fontridge, but could easily recall Jareth, in all his usual frightening glory, taking her into  
his arms. The rest could easily be deduced. He had brought her here, and had left the  
book, which actually was a kind act on his part.  
  
Sarah reached down and retrieved the book. She was, of course, interested in  
what she would find in such an ancient diary, but her repulsive appearance came first.   
There was no possible way she could stand to see herself, covered in dirt and grime, and  
clothed in the brown rag. Sarah nearly gagged at the feel of wet mud against her stomach  
and set the diary gently upon the bed, avoiding all wet and muddy spots.  
  
It would just have to wait until after her shower.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Sarah returned to her new room, ( found only a few doors away from the previous  
one which had succumbed to a raging fire), a white robe tied loosely about her waist and a  
towel, matching white in color, which she used to dry her long locks of wet hair. A thick  
feeling of rejuvenation filled her soul, making the entire outlook for the day one of  
optimism and not regrets. Perhaps she would not make her way down to the rehearsals  
that morning, but rather delve into the life of one who had long since passed away.  
  
"Well Emelia," Sarah stated as she carelessly tossed the towel atop one velvet  
upholstered chair, "Why don't we just see what secrets you kept hidden so very far away."  
  
She fell upon the bed and immediately grabbed the diary, as if unable to hold back.   
After all, things such as this had always amazed Sarah to no end. A natural companion to  
a love of fantasy was an obsession with the past. Especially such regal times, as in which  
Emelia lived.   
  
Sarah allowed a melancholy sigh to escape from between her lips and then fell  
back, clutching the book ever tighter. The shear anxiousness that coursed through her  
system was only matched with that of apprehension, and concerns about Emelia's privacy.   
Surely the mere fact that the girl, or rather woman, was dead gave Sarah a right to read  
what she had written. Then again....  
  
"Would I want someone reading my own diary?" she asked herself, running a  
slender finger over the lovely cover.  
  
Sarah paused a moment longer, unable to decide between her curiosity and her  
concerns. However, the pains she had gone through to get the diary proved to be the  
deciding factor and she quickly flipped it open, to the page that had already been started  
the night prior, in the midst of the raging storm.  
  
"I have met Hell today. The grand spectacle of Fontridge Manor may seem like an answer to father  
and Mother, but I find the estate dark...foreboding. I wish to return nearer the town, and leave the damp,  
stormy weather found in the bleak countryside. There is little hope for my plight, and my only solace lies in the  
comfort of the woods, so mysterious and ancient. Father and Mother would not approve of my wandering  
through their many trials daily, but they have yet to discover my well-hidden secret.   
  
There also is some enjoyment in the weekly visits paid to the market, where one can find any odd  
trinkets that have ever entered one's imagination. Mother loves the ribbons, and art, and urges me to find these  
items as alluring as that of the books and poetry, for which my passion lies. They do not understand, but they  
never have. Meanwhile Father fancies the swords and tack for the scores of horses he plans on purchasing  
shortly. I wish only for a lovely mare, whom can take me quicker into the forest and to the secret destination.   
  
I shall write soon diary, for, one of those lovely outings to the market place I have mentioned, shall  
occur today. Father beckons and I must answer at once. I will continue at a later date."  
  
That entry ended with a lovely cursive signature. However, not quite as formal as  
that found on the first page. She signed it merely with the less splendid title of "Emily."   
Perhaps a pet name that had been used by her parents. Sarah's imagination was able to  
form any of a thousand different interpretations.  
  
Yet, there was no time to stop. Already her entire soul was encompassed by the  
diary and she longed to read more. With a flip of the page a whole new day was revealed  
and Sarah eagerly continued on with the entry.  
  
"Today my life has changed. The most amazing creature perhaps ever placed upon this earth spoke to  
me, and I felt myself melt at his voice. Is it too soon to speak of love?....  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
* I had only to arrive, and stray from Mother's side, when I first saw him. He was cloaked as a  
noble, but served at a new stall, one which dealt in literature*  
  
Emelia paused as she entered the marketplace, her Mother at her side, while her  
Father hurried off once more to speak to friends about this and that. The women were left  
alone, as they always were, and it would only be a matter of time before Emelia wandered  
off, unbeknownst to her proper Mother.  
  
The same faces greeted her, offering their most pleasant smiles and kind words.   
Many remarked on how lovely Emelia had become, even if only a week had passed since  
the last time they had seen each other. She merely nodded in response and offered a polite  
smile, keeping silent as she continued along behind her Mother.  
  
"That lovely bonnet would look darling with your riding costume, don't you  
believe Emelia?" her Mother questioned as she took the green hat into her hands.  
  
Emelia nodded briefly, but averted her gaze to the areas of her choice. She longed  
to purchase the newest literary material, and revel in some of the more alluring poems.   
Her Mother would surely frown on such things, but she was currently overcome by the  
startling amount of new merchandise to arrive, along with the darling riding bonnet.   
Emelia tip toed off, her long skirts lifted enough to avoid soiling the pristine material.  
  
Once enough distance had been forged between herself and the power of her  
Mother, Emelia dropped the tedious and heavy material and quickly made her way to the  
novels. The man busily categorizing and counting glanced up and laughed as the young  
lady approached. He had grown accustomed to her secretive ventures to his stall, and  
greeted them merrily each time.  
  
"Well Emily, what are ye in search of this time?" he asked, his merry voice ringing  
splendidly.  
  
She pulled nervously at a ringlet of brunette hair, cast with highlights of auburn,  
and scanned the many titles. There were so many, countless actually, and certainly no way  
to ever read every one. However, she longed to do just that. The stories brought her out  
of her life, the dull thing, and into a world of amazing adventure, fantasy, everything and  
anything that was not her current situation.  
  
"As of yet, I am not quite sure. These novels all appear so...," she paused, her  
deep brown eyes flicking about the other venders that had arrived that day.  
  
Her gaze abruptly halted at the sight of the young man, his golden locks  
shimmering in the sun and his hypnotizing eyes staring directly at her. He did not change  
his gaze, but merely allowed a slanted smile to grace his lovely features. If it had not been  
for the hand on her shoulder, Emelia most certainly would have swooned at that moment,  
overcome by the intensity of the stranger's eyes.  
  
"Emily, child!" the man behind her called, shaking briefly to regain her attention.  
  
She spun about, tearing her gaze from the mysterious man. However, his slender,  
regal features still remained chiseled forever in her mind, even as she bent forward to  
inquire as to whom the man was.  
  
"Do you know of that young man, the one who looked at me so very oddly?" she  
asked, her voice barely audible.  
  
The older vender also glanced down the cobbled aisles which were kept open  
between the many wooden stalls. At the very end, nearly out of the ring of shops, rested a  
booth he had not noticed earlier that morning, around dawn, when all the regulars were  
busily preparing merchandise.   
  
The man had turned from direct view, now talking to another young lady. The  
woman seemed nearly as captivated as Emelia had been, a scroll clutched closely to her  
bosom, nearly tearing the delicate paper as the lad spoke. He bent in very near, a single  
hand stretched out to sweep a lock of auburn hair from the young woman's brow. She  
instantly blushed, turning her face downwards and covering her burning cheeks with a  
pristine gloved hand.   
  
The man merely leaned back, a wonderfully musical laughter erupting from his thin  
lips. His customer looked up again, almost as if she was a deer, held in the sights of a  
hunters gun. Then, without warning, the blonde youth looked back at the old man, who  
could not make sense of the stranger. His gaze was more powerful than any that could be  
imagined, and at first glance stories of the Fae leaped into the aged vender's mind.  
  
"Be wary of that one, Emily. You'll be wise to remain far from his grasp," the  
man warned, turning to look at the dear young child.  
  
Once again her attention was averted, back to the youth and his remarkable  
appearance. His eyes alone held enough magic to captivate all of the village's population  
of young girls, and even older women. The elder tried desperately to grab at Emelia's  
arm, but she quickly left his stall and started towards the man whom had caught her  
entirely in his wily grip.  
  
Emelia dared not look at the handsome youth, but instead strolled beside the  
counter, scattered with scrolls and worn novels. Her hand paused atop a book, by far  
smaller than the rest, but the crimson leather cover seemed to beckon to her, to perhaps  
open and see what treasures were held in the yellowed pages.  
  
With a slight hesitation she lifted the book, still feeling the vendor's eyes upon her.   
Without warning a hand, pale as alabaster, closed around the book, and she quickly turned  
to look at whom had stopped her browsing.   
  
"I'm afraid, this is not what you are searching for," the pale, amazing youth stated  
as he took the thin novel from Emelia's weakened hands.  
  
She swallowed, trying in vain to hide the certain rosy blush that was beginning to  
form over her cheeks. She bowed her head down, searching through the scripts, but  
found the mysterious red book far more interesting than any other merchandise. It felt,  
almost, as if the odd thing was calling to her, begging her to come and take it away.  
  
"Why, sir, may I not purchase that book?" she asked pointedly, daring to catch his  
gaze with her own. Her determination stood out with a single raised eyebrow of inquiry.  
  
He leaned against the side of the booth, and lifted a circular object into his hand. It  
appeared to be glass, but shone more resplendently and with a mystic aura that ordinary  
products could not attain. Most certainly the orb was of some divine material, and was  
constructed of something more... interesting. Then, with a dexterity and lithe movements  
that Emelia had never witnessed before (save in the jugglers who had performed once in  
the midst of the market, for small coins and odd trinkets) he began to spin the orb about,  
and quickly placed two other amazing balls into his hand, twirling them all about at  
remarkable speeds.  
  
"You know not what you wish," he replied, and turned his eyes to her once more.  
  
Emelia gasped, her hands quickly covering her gaping mouth in an attempt to  
retain her ladylike composure. However, the shock she had received was nothing short of  
overwhelming. The youth's eyes were not those of normal mortals, but were formed in  
two striking colors. One was of the deepest chocolate, while the other shone like the  
depths of the sea, a crystal blue shade.  
  
"I believe," she managed to calm her startled self, "That I should be the one to  
determine what I may or may not understand."  
  
The man leaned forward, and tossed the crystal balls into the air. They remained  
poised at the highest point to be reached, as if defying gravity itself, and then fell to the  
counter. Emelia cringed, already preparing for the inevitable shatter that would follow  
shortly after, but there was no sound. When at least she reopened her eyes, only a single  
orb remained, and it most certainly was not damaged.  
  
"You are right, milady, and I humbly offer you any item in my store, the novel of  
your interest included. Beauty such as yours cannot be denied," he bowed deeply, his  
wispy locks of silver-blonde hair brushing about his face in the process.  
  
Emelia knew that she was flushed once more, but did not show her embarrassment  
as she reached out to take the book firmly in her hands. The soft leather backing brushed  
across her palm, and she nearly felt a strange vibration emanate from within the yellowed  
pages. She nearly dropped it, but noted the man's look of interest and clutched the  
unnerving book to her chest.  
  
"What would the price be of this... novel, sir?" Emelia forced the question out as  
the continuing aura of magical proportions bombarded her.  
  
The man clasped his delicate hands together and walked out from his stall,  
watching Emelia squirm slightly with her "treasure." He approached her, his white poet's  
shirt flowing slightly in the cool breeze. The youth truly walked like one of noble blood,  
his refined appearance accentuated only by his genuine poise and innate grace. His  
movements were fluid, like a cat's and without a breath of hesitation, he was at her side,  
too near for comfort.  
  
"Only your name," he whispered and took her hand in his. His lip brushed her  
skin, as if a faint breath of air had graced her flesh. A fine trail of gooseflesh covered her  
arms, and Emelia was immediately thankful for her long sleeves.  
  
"Sir, I hardly know...," she began to argue against his most simple wishes.  
  
The man stood, and fixed her gaze once again, with his own. She found herself  
weak, as if her legs were melting at his sight. Emelia scolded herself for ever venturing  
closer to him. Now she was without hope of ever erasing his presence from her mind.  
  
"I'm Jareth, and it would be a great pleasure to merely know your name, milady,"  
Jareth replied and waited patiently, hands clasped behind his back.  
  
She felt herself grown faint, and touched her paling lips with the tips of her fingers.  
Emelia reached back and placed one trembling hand atop the smooth wood beneath the  
piles of scrolls Jareth had had for sale. She stumbled backwards and finally steadied  
herself, or rather.... warm hands had secured themselves around her waist, and the other  
on her shoulder.  
  
She shook her head and quickly struggled from his grasp, but Jareth had seen her  
come close to falling and remained dutifully by her side. Emelia focused upon the ground,  
trying in vain to rid herself of the embarrassing situation. The amounts of gossip that  
would be sure to spring from this incident would be immeasurable.   
  
"Please, I wish to pay," she stated when at last Jareth had backed away a safe  
distance.  
  
"I have told you that I wish only to know your name. I ask for so little," he  
pleaded, although a teasing glint had touched both of his mismatched eyes.  
  
Emelia struggled with a few words, and tried to counter his asking price for the  
book. However, every word she tried, came out without any other form of support. She,  
at last, caved in and looked down at the lovely book, noting the divine gold script which  
the leather cover bore.  
  
"It is Emelia Fontridge, sir, and...." she was abruptly cut off with a flick of Jareth's  
hands.  
  
"Not sir, I am not deserving of any such titles. It is just Jareth," he demanded and  
then slowly walked back into his booth.  
  
Emelia paused a moment and then tapped her fingernails atop the book, debating  
whether to leave at once or inquire as to where Jareth had come from. She had never seen  
him in the market before, and had heard no stories surrounding him. Most certainly  
someone of his appearance would be the subject of some rumors and gossip. It was  
almost as if he had just fallen into town, without a true past.  
  
"Shall I see you again, Emelia?" he asked, the look upon his face cloaked in  
mystery.  
  
Emelia turned, but glanced back at him. Her chocolate curls cascaded through her  
vision before she brushed them aside with a slow stroke of her slender fingers. Jareth  
watched this all, with an intensity that was most unwelcome. However, despite his odd  
actions, Emelia couldn't imagine not seeing him again. Already she was captivated, and  
dared to think of love.  
  
"If you are here when we return next week, then I shall see you. Until then,  
Jareth," Emelia curtsied slightly and turned to leave once more.  
  
"I will wait with baited breath, Emily." his reply rode the wind, and forced her to  
turn and see him, if only once more.  
  
However, Jareth was not in sight when she did look. His shop remained, but there  
was no trace of the dashing young man. Emelia brushed the feeling of nervousness aside  
and continued back to her parents.   



	18. Spread Your Wings... part 2

Chapter Seventeen, part 2: Spread Your Wings...  
  
Sarah paused, her mind suddenly alive with countless questions all concerning the  
sudden appearance of a certain figure from her past. His presence haunted her life, and  
seemed even to infest history.   
  
"Jareth," she thought, her mind a feverish whir of inquiries, "How have you  
become so involved in this place?"  
  
A harsh series of knocks upon the door startled Sarah from her pondering. She  
jumped to her feet, and then instantly glanced back down to the diary sitting out in the  
open. That certainly would not be appropriate, for others would not understand. Sarah  
rushed back, slipped the diary beneath her downy pillow and hurried back to the locked  
door.  
  
With a series of fluid movements she adjusted the robe about her waist, flipped her  
hair over her shoulders and unfastened the lock, allowing those outside entrance into her  
room. The door burst open before she could begin to turn the knob, and very nearly  
slammed into her body. Sarah leapt back at the final second and then stood, gasping  
against the shock she had sustained.  
  
"Sarah!" Peter exclaimed and hurriedly took her into his arms.  
  
She remained there, stunned, shocked, experiencing every odd sensation and  
disturbing feeling that she could ever imagine, and then forced herself free from the  
emotions. Sarah straightened her robe, feeling horridly bare, and then tried to calm the  
flush in her cheeks.  
  
The flustered look of the group of actors at her door did nothing for her current  
uneasiness. They all seemed beyond words at the sight of her, which was unnerving, to  
say the least. Peter, above all, looked horrid. His skin was ashen and black hair fell in  
disarray around his face. Even his eyes had dulled, leaving him only a part of the man  
whom Sarah had originally met several days ago.  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" Sarah demanded, holding the neck of her robe shut  
with one hand and resting the other on her door.  
  
"You haven't heard? You can't be serious, Sarah," Peter remarked, edging nearer  
until Sarah narrowed her eyes in anger towards him.  
  
She turned from them and walked further into her room. There was no point in  
keeping them out, and the book was properly hidden. She would just place herself upon  
the bed, and protect her wonderful treasure. The others followed her in. There were six  
in all, not including herself.  
  
"What have I not heard, Peter? I've been in here all morning, relaxing after  
yesterday," she shot him a dirty look after her comment.  
  
Peter seemed equally confused about her anger as the six came in. Sarah noted  
another odd thing, all the crowd was men. Gabrielle was missing, which was not a usual  
occurrence. She was, after all, Sarah's closest friend in the mansion.  
  
There was Peter, the older man, the blonde whom had found fun in harassing her,  
the younger boy, the brunette, and two others Sarah had not been acquainted with yet.   
She watched as each one leaned, or sat upon the sparse furniture as they waited for Peter  
to explain.  
  
"The screams, Sarah," Peter remarked sullenly, his eyes downcast and fixed on his  
interlocked hands, which rested heavily upon his lap.  
  
Sarah started, her heart leaping into her throat, and the sudden thought of those  
missing broke into her frenzied mind. Faces of those not in the room flashed before her  
blank eyes, and at last she realized the extent of the trouble within Fontridge. Worst still,  
Gabrielle had fallen victim.  
  
She placed a trembling hand over her lips, eyes as wide as those of a doe, caught in  
the light of oncoming traffic. Sarah's face had paled considerably, and warm circles of red  
stood out upon her cheekbones.   
  
"No," she whispered, from behind her hand.  
  
Peter rose suddenly, but could not begin to approach her before Sarah leapt to her  
own feet and turned from them all. Her back heaved several times, preparing for the flow  
of surging emotions. She wrapped her arms about herself, and looked out the large  
window, towards the blue sky and the forest.   
  
It had happened last night, for that was the only time Sarah had been away. She  
had been drawn by the mysterious steed, and found by the Goblin King himself. Pieces of  
a puzzle seemed to drop casually together, and reveal a picture that Sarah did not want to  
see, at least not again.  
  
"He did it," she whispered, without knowing that she had actually spoken the  
accusation out loud, where all those in her room could easily hear.  
  
Peter rushed towards her, his hands forcing their way to her shoulders, in order to  
confirm what he had just heard. Sarah tried in vain to shrug his palms away,  
understanding, already, the mistake she had made.  
  
"Who, Sarah? Who did it? There are three missing and.... Please," Peter begged.  
  
A hush fell over the room as Sarah remained in silence. She shook her head,  
unable to tell them about her knowledge, but lost as to how she would find her way out of  
the tricky situation. They would sooner believe that she herself had committed the crime,  
than a Fae lord.  
  
"No one. Can you please leave me? I need to... think about this alone," Sarah  
stuttered, though she did not move from her position before the window as she spoke.  
  
A gentle murmur spread across her room, as others exchanged their views on the  
situation, and what should be done. However, there was no action taken, and soon they  
rose, if not somewhat still wondering what it was Sarah had meant. All milled out, save  
Peter, whom remained behind the young brunette, a glimmer of doubt embedded in his  
mind.  
  
Sarah sensed him rather than hearing or seeing his presence. Although the touch  
of his breath against her neck, and the slight reflection which was cast in the window,  
easily confirmed her feeling.  
  
"You know more," Peter remarked calmly, as if he had the right to interrogate her  
for a crime she had not committed.  
  
"I know nothing. Please, leave me alone," she begged, her voice meek and  
hitching as her emotions threatened to burst free from the barricade she had established  
about them.  
  
This did not satiate Peter's search for the truth. He circled Sarah, until standing  
directly before her, his emerald eyes boring holes into her downturned face. She could not  
look, and show him how much this had all affected her.   
  
Sarah bit her lip, wishing with all her heart that Peter would leave, and just ignore  
what she had said earlier. Her breathing increased its rate, and her heart fluttered wildly,  
offering the sensation of a cardiac arrest, or something of the sort.  
  
Sarah snapped her gaze up, shock overcoming her features at the strange  
sensations that had stolen over her body. However, the true terror was not to come until  
she did glance upwards, and realized that she was now completely alone. Peter had left, in  
the mere matter of seconds, and had made no noise in the process.  
  
She exhaled in one shaking breath, her lips trembling in fear and her eyes snapping  
across the room in a rushed fashion. Nothing appeared different, and there was no Goblin  
King waiting to pounce. Sarah, relieved only mildly, collapsed atop her bed. She cringed  
as the corner of the book drove into her spine, and grasped it from below one of the many  
pillows atop the mattress.  
  
"Gabrielle, I'm so sorry," Sarah whispered, clutching the diary close to her chest.  
  
She had never intended anything of the sort to happen, not even to the rude  
woman she had met in the theatre. However, Gabrielle had done nothing to deserve any  
such treatment. Sarah felt a tear slip down her cheek at the thought and brushed it away  
briskly, with the back of her hand.  
  
The diary, that was what was left of her life. Sarah opened it where she had  
stopped and quickly began to read. Emelia's life was her escape and salvation from the  
fall of her own existence.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"I waited anxiously for the following week, and our scheduled visit to the marketplace. Jareth's  
handsome, pale face has not left my mind since I first saw him. The story I bought, entitled simply as  
"Labyrinth", has heightened my sleep with dreams of him. I fear, however, that these night fantasies are  
cloaked in sin, for I find myself overcome by passion.   
Father warned me of those that seek to corrupt the innocence of youth, and I know now that Jareth is  
one of those. Nonetheless, there is no other way I would rather ruin my immortal soul, than through engaging  
with this mysterious stranger..."  
  
Emelia ran a silver encrusted brush through her thick chestnut mane. Each hair  
shone with a fiery brilliance, especially when touched by the light of the morning sun. She  
looked over to her mother, whom acknowledged her daughter with a questioning look.   
Emelia had never acted so odd, especially when traveling to the mere market... such a  
commonplace duty.  
  
The carriage lurched a bit and the attention was immediately drawn off of  
Fontridge's daughter. The man of the house peered out, and bellowed at the driver.   
Surely such service could easily be replaced by another. The driver answered by pulling to  
a stop, having arrived at the market in splendid time. Not another harsh word was uttered  
to the silent driver.  
  
"Might I stroll through the booths, Mother?" Emelia asked with a genuine act of  
sincerity.  
  
Madame Fontridge looked her daughter over with a scrutinizing eye, noting the  
hair worn surprisingly long for a day in the market. She toyed with a lock of Emelia's  
chestnut hair and then allowed the faintest smile to grace her pale features.   
  
"Stay near, Emelia. Mr. Fontridge and I shalln't be long," she warned and then  
walked with her genuine refined nature, towards the closest friends.  
  
Emelia positively beamed, her lovely face lit up with radiance nearing the splendor  
of the sun. She lifted her heavy garments and hastened her way to the stall, in which  
Jareth had positioned himself last. She paused momentarily to bid a welcome to her dear  
friends, whom had grown accustomed to her business. This day, however, was not meant  
to browse, but rather learn more about the lovely....  
  
She paused in mid stride and stared in shocked awe at the bleak corner, devoid of  
anything, where Jareth had been only last week. Not even the empty stall was left, nor a  
single artifact from the items he had had for sale.   
  
Her stun was evident to each passing patron, and the shop vendors. From one side  
Emelia could scarcely hear the far-off call from the older man, whom had sold her so many  
priceless pieces of literature. She shrugged his calls off, and turned abruptly, perhaps to  
leave and never again return.  
  
"He had promised," her mind whispered in stubborn, mule-headed surety that  
Jareth would still be there.  
  
Emelia sniffed against her tears and forced her innate ladylike mannerisms to  
capture any sadness that dwelled in her heart. She had not quite realized how much this  
meeting had meant, until it had not occurred. She forced herself to not draw a crowd with  
depressed actions, but could not front the false charade as she had once been able.  
  
"Why turn from me Emelia? I have waited quite some time to see that lovely face  
again," the silken voice stated from nearby.  
  
Her spirits soared as she turned and beheld the object of her utter affection. If she  
had not been in public, and had not been stifled by strict morale upbringing, then surely  
she would have thrown herself into his arms. Emelia instead allowed a luminous smile to  
cross her full pink lips and curtsied slightly before Jareth.  
  
His attire had not altered much from the time she last saw him. Jareth had tied his  
long golden locks back, and secured it with a silken white ribbon, one that matched his  
simple, flowing shirt. Still his gaze was cloaked in majesty and filled with strange urgency  
that Emelia feared as much as she longed to be with him.  
  
"I thought you had not come, sir," Emelia remarked, begging with every last ounce  
of her being that he would take her from the sight of others prying eyes.  
  
Jareth offered her his arm, which she took, only offering a single backwards glance  
toward the general direction of her mother. There would be much punishment if she was  
to allow anyone of any importance to see her, the daughter of the prestigious Fontridge,  
with an unknown man. Rumors would abound, and could easily ruin her well forged  
reputation among the elite of society.  
  
However, that fear did not hinder her immediate acceptance of Jareth's courtesy,  
and she followed him as he continued to walk among the scores of people milling from  
booth to booth. They strolled in silence for a while, Emelia's heart ready to explode,  
while Jareth appeared as calm as if he were used to such goings on.   
  
"You dwell in the manor outside of town," Jareth remarked suddenly. The  
statement was more a comment than question, and his strange knowledge settled poorly  
with Emelia.  
  
"Yes," she replied shortly, and turned her soft brown eyes downwards.  
  
The silence returned, and did so with a vengeance. Everything had felt so right  
before, and now they were unable to engage in typical conversation. Emelia struggled  
with several things, trying to ask about where he had been before, what he had done, and  
why he sold such odd stories. She had never heard of them, and her novel bore no author  
name.  
  
Jareth suddenly stopped, and Emelia realized that he had guided her away from the  
crowd, and to the back area, in which his stall had been the week prior. Now there was  
nothing, save patchy grass and the occasional muddy puddle. Emelia cringed and  
sidestepped away from the filth.  
  
With a haste that she had not even begun to notice, Jareth gripped her arms tightly  
and forced Emelia to look up into his eyes. They burned with fire and ice, and drove her  
nearly insane with countless inquiries and the oddest desires. Her skin broke into shivers,  
and a warmth spread through her stomach, just as he looked at her.  
  
"Let me take you elsewhere, Emily. This is not for you. Social constraints, fears  
of being judged. Free yourself," he whispered, all the while staring into her deep  
chocolate eyes.  
  
Emelia glanced around, instantly concerned that some stray shopper should happen  
across the two, so close in the darkness offered by other booths. Yet, she found that she  
could not deny him, and secretly had hoped that he would do just this. She nodded in  
response and then followed him as he led her through a maze of back alleyways,  
constructed behind the booths at the market.  
  
"Where are we going?" she called with a laugh as he sped into a run, trailing her  
behind him.  
  
"It doesn't matter, Emily, as long as we are free," he replied and stopped as they  
broke into the warmth of the sunshine.  
  
They had found their way into a pasture, separated by a crumbling wall from the  
bustling marketplace. Emelia laughed breathlessly, as she looked from whence they had  
come, and found herself instantly overcome with freedom, after being bound for so long.   
Jareth's insistent hand upon her forearm forced her to look back at his smiling face.  
  
"I feel as if I could fly," she stated, spreading her arms outwards and upwards as if  
preparing to soar into the blue skies overhead.  
  
Jareth caught her about the waist, and drew the distance between themselves to  
nothing. Emelia gasped, but remained stiffened only a moment until she found herself  
relaxing against his tender embrace. Her lovely smile resurfaced and spread across her full  
lips, bubbling forth with musical laughter.  
  
"Then spread your wings, milady," he whispered, pressing his mouth near her ear,  
and sending a trace of fire across her cheeks.  
  
Jareth tightened his grip and spun the shocked Emelia about. She gazed into the  
sky, and allowed her arms to spread once again as the feeling of weightlessness enveloped  
her sensations. Jareth's hands around her waist were the only thing that remained, which  
told her that she was still fastened upon the earth.  
  
Then he stopped, and she found herself planted firmly upon the uneven ground.   
Emelia turned to look at Jareth again, her face brightened with the rush of the experience  
and her hair tousled from exposure to the wind. Then, a seriousness spread across her  
features as Jareth's soft hands stroked her flushed cheeks.  
  
Without warning he moved in, and touched his lips against her own, in a kiss that  
deepened with passion and intensity before Emelia could being to register what was  
actually occurring. His strong arms drew her closer, and they kissed beneath the expanse  
of freedom, which was the morning sky.  
  



	19. ....and Fly Away... part 3

Chapter Seventeen, part 3: ... And Fly Away  
  
Sarah nearly snapped the book closed after what she had just recently read.   
However, her curiosity had won her over, and better judgment was cast to the wind. She  
flipped through the yellowed pages, scanning entries here and there, all the while  
bombarded with evidence of the Goblin King throughout Emelia's life.  
  
"Such love as is found between us, can never be described by fickle words. This is the emotion sung by  
birds, heard in melodies, seen in nature, felt only by a select few. How I wish I could write exactly what it is,  
but my vocabulary is limited by the English language..."  
  
Sarah flipped another page, "Love" overly evident in each and every entry.   
Infatuation simply leaked from between sentences and finely crafted script. Here and there  
a letter found its way between the pages, its whiteness turned brown from ages against the  
old ink and tarnished paper. Most were simple poems, written perhaps by Emelia about  
her love, or from the great King himself.  
  
One of those stray sheets of paper slipped from the fanned pages, and landed  
delicately atop Sarah's lap. The thickness varied mildly from the other letters, having an  
appearance closer to that of thin cardboard. Sarah set the diary down upon the bed, and  
averted her interested gaze to the peculiar object.  
  
With a single tentative hand she lifted it, feeling the tell-tale texture of gloss on one  
side, which instantly informed her of exactly what had collapsed upon her. Sarah hitched  
in a breath, not sure if she was quite able to turn it over and look, but knowing that there  
was no way she could deny the urge to merely glance at the mystery...  
  
"Come on Sarah," she urged and flipped the artifact over.  
  
Almost simultaneously her shock and horror registered over her ashen face. Sarah  
held the picture there for a moment, only able to stare. Then her grip weakened, and the  
photograph plummeted to the ground, spiraling and tilting all the way down. Her gaze  
followed it, unable to make the image erase itself from her mind.  
  
However, almost mockingly, the photo remained face-up, leering rather than filled  
with happiness. Two figures, sitting closely together as the picture was taken, both  
smiling... unlike most pictures taken in those days. Both were strikingly obvious,  
considering that Jareth had changed little since those two hundred years past. The other  
took the remainder of Sarah's breath away.  
  
"She looks like me," Sarah whispered in a voice devoid of emotions.  
  
Her words were true, for the young woman was Sarah's striking double. Long  
tresses of chestnut hair hung over Emelia's shoulders, and was partially done up in an  
intricate style. Even their features were similar, though Emelia's face was slightly rounder  
than Sarah's. Save the small exceptions, Sarah could have easily been the woman in the  
photo.  
  
The similarities struck a deep memory, one from an earlier time in Fontridge  
Manor. Sarah had seen the mysterious woman, who had seemed so tender and gentle.   
Then she had promptly disappeared, which proved that her presence was an otherworldly  
one. Now, as Sarah's chestnut gaze trailed over the slightly faded photograph, she  
realized that the woman she had once seen, was, in fact, Emelia Fontridge.  
  
"Why did you show yourself to me?" Sarah asked, her voice quivering only  
slightly. At last, she managed to tear her gaze from the picture and towards the diary.  
  
The book, it held the answers to all of her countless inquiries. Sarah hurriedly  
reached for it, and plopped the heavy thing upon her lap. There was no time to lose. She  
flipped through pages like a mad woman, scanning words hundreds of years old, for  
proof... information of what had happened to cause...   
  
Had anything happened? Had Emelia and Jareth's love been cast to the stones  
during one stormy night? The tale Gabrielle had told would make one believe so, but was  
it truthful, or rather formed through the years? Sarah paused her search to contemplate  
what she believed she was bound to find within the yellowed pages.  
  
Without a thought she glanced down, to where she had stopped when her mind  
had interrupted her searching. It had been quite some time since the first meeting Emelia  
had with Jareth. Sarah slowly began to read, drawing in tales of the past as one might  
read the latest romance novel. This, of course, had truly been someone's life.  
  
"There is a word for what I have done, but am unable to admit it to myself. Father would readily cast  
me from the house, and mother disown me. I would be proclaimed a harlot, and shunned from society. Albeit, I  
am unable to stop.... and do not wish it to ever end....,"  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Emelia turned her tender chocolate eyes downwards, to the clear crystalline pond,  
which stood so very still. Her reflection was easily shown, and the calm waters provided  
little distortion. A part of her ached for some falsities in the image, for what it portrayed  
was what she had become, and it hurt to know the truth.  
  
Lazing still in the patchy green and tan grass, Jareth paid little attention to Emelia's  
melancholy attitude. He could not really see the look upon her face, nor did he notice her  
stooped shoulders and paled face. It was, perhaps, better that way. Emelia did not wish  
to explain the complex workings of her mind.  
  
Her undergarments shown in pristine whiteness, the same shade she had once  
associated with herself. Now she was blackened with sin, with immoral acts, and the  
feelings of lust whirling about in her abdomen. There was little to do to remedy the  
situation, especially while she still longed for more.   
  
She swept her long chestnut locks over her shoulder, and turned her head just  
slightly to see the highlights of the sun upon her cheekbones. The way the colors fell, and  
her hair flowing free, added years to her childlike appearance. There was not much  
disguising her lack of adulthood, for Emelia had only experienced sixteen years upon the  
earth.  
  
With a deep, and drawn out sigh, Emelia turned to acknowledge her lover, whom  
still rested, alluring eyes shut and chest raising and falling in rhythm with herself. Merely  
looking at him, his body a perfection crafted from pure alabaster, brought a pang of heart  
felt emotion into her being. His golden mane of unruly hair, which draped over the paths  
of grass like a divine liquid, caught the rays of the sun.  
  
She reached out one delicate, and tentative hand to thread through his silken hair,  
as if it were strung gold. He stirred, and she withdrew her fingers, eyes widened in shock,  
and awe as his muscles twitched in waking. Then those eyes, pale cornflower and   
shocking chestnut, opened to observe her in a most scandalous attire.  
  
"Emily, come and lay with me," Jareth urged as he opened his arms to take her  
beside himself.  
  
Emelia hesitated briefly, during which she glanced up to the sky to deduce the  
approximate time. Not nearly afternoon, which meant that she would not be missed at the  
house for another hour... or more. She was quite safe, but the fact remained that the  
secretive act was quite wrong... but so right as well.  
  
She laid herself down upon the uneven, sparse grass, beside Jareth. His arm  
instantly found its way around her shoulders, cradling her head upon his biceps. She  
turned, gazing into his mysterious eyes, as deep as the unknown sea, and twice as  
powerful.   
  
"Who are you, Jareth?" Emelia asked, then immediately averted her eyes, fearing  
the anger that would follow her rude inquiry.  
  
However, there was no explosion of tempers, nor the flurry of her love's dressing  
and running from the clearing. Rather there was but a single, deep sigh, which almost  
enveloped the entire perspective of melancholy emotions. She could feel his arm slack a  
bit, the original comfort gone out of the muscles, but he remained.  
  
"My home is very far, Emily, and out of your own thought. These are such trivial  
matters to speak about when you, my dear, appear as lovely as the morning rays of sun,"  
he whispered, at once tightening his arm about her so that she was quite forced to roll  
nearer to his side.  
  
She giggled, despite vehement warnings from her own self that such an act would  
spoil the entire romantic mood which had overtaken the two. However, the laughter did  
little to phase Jareth, as he wrapped her in his strong embrace and pulled her nearer still.   
All around swept the feel of power, and magic beyond any of Emelia's most wild  
fantasies.  
  
Jareth warm lips pressed against her own, with intensity that she had yet to grow  
accustomed to. She returned his passion, hungering for the sustenance that was provided  
with his touch. The caress of his palm against her arm, and shortly her undergarments had  
slid down, seductively low. He pressed his mouth against the pale flesh upon her  
shoulder, and slid delicately across her exposed collar bones.   
  
"We... I must... what would they think?" Emelia managed through breathy moans  
filled with intensity and pleasure.  
  
Jareth did not answer, but continued in his urgency of lust. He guided her  
undergarments away, the pristine white cotton slipping delicately to the forest floor.   
Then, with almost aching slowness, Jareth leaned away, and gazed down at Emelia as she  
laid upon the ground. Her chest rose and fell with harsh breaths and her chestnut mane  
laid like a halo around her beautiful face.  
  
He placed a tender hand upon her cheek, the last of her baby fat having faded to  
nothingness the past year, which left her sculpted features free to behold. Her cheekbones  
were momentarily highlighted by a flush, which only accentuated her lovely looks.   
Widened eyes took in Jareth's form, his gray tights still completely upon his body, while  
the pale shirt that he had worn earlier had met the same fate as Emelia's clothing.  
  
Without warning, once again, he dove in and wrapped Emelia up in his aura of  
fantasy, and magical dreams filled with sweet oblivion of pleasures. She savored his  
touch, the scent of such raw power which surrounded his being at all moments. Her hands  
rose to his golden locks and her fingers threaded about strands of his unruly hair.   
  
She felt their hearts, suddenly taking each others rhythm as their own. Even a  
warm silver light, that she sensed more than felt, had become part of her own soul. This,  
Emelia understood as Jareth's intoxicating touch moved along her body, was his essence,  
Jareth's utter self merging within her.  
  
She could not ever decide how or when it happened, but without his pausing to  
decloak himself, she felt their bare fleshes unrestricted by the smooth material of his pants.   
Emelia did not dwell upon the mysteries, but rather allowed the pleasure that erupted  
within herself take over her entire consciousness, as magical presences danced about the  
lovers.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"You haven't touched your meal, Emelia," Mr., Fontridge proclaimed in a  
stentorian voice.  
  
She jerked in her chair, having suddenly been ripped from the daydream that had  
encompassed her mind till that moment. Emelia instantly snapped her gaze to her strict  
father, subservience overtaking her surprise the next second. A fork clattered to the  
wooden floor, which had been precariously placed at the edge of the grand table.  
  
Emelia swallowed deeply, straightened her posture to appear as a proper young  
lady, and then bent to retrieve the dropped utensil. She was stopped, however, by a  
powerful grip upon her shoulder, the same that had been tantalized by Jareth's touch but a  
few hours earlier. Thoughts about her secret double life were instantly dissipated as a pain  
surged through her tender flesh.  
  
"You have not been yourself, as of late, young lady," Fontridge exclaimed,  
emphasizing his point with a crushing squeeze of her poor shoulder.  
  
Emelia cringed, unable to ignore the agony that flared through her delicate bones.   
Fontridge released his vice-like grip and then forced her face upwards to his own, so that  
their eyes met. His cold, heartless gaze burned deeply into her warm brown eyes, as if  
accusing without knowing the truth of her guilt.  
  
She could find nothing to say, so merely remained in silence. He had not yet  
demanded an answer, and in such cases it was important to remain wordless as long as  
possible. Across the way she could hear her mother, the enabler... believing that her  
husband was the master and so entitled to the occasional abuse bestowed upon his  
daughter.   
  
"Speak child, tell me where you go everyday... and remain to all hours. Ah, she  
believed I had not noticed. Do you think me that ignorant, Emelia?" he asked and  
removed his hand with an abrupt snap.  
  
She looked into her lap, still able to sense the powerful man's presence near by.   
He would not accept anything, but instead proclaim her to be a liar until the worst case  
scenario was told. However, in this instance, the worst possible had occurred, and still  
would if Emelia had her freedom.  
  
"I go into the woods, sir," she stated, knowing already that the punishment would  
be great even for that venial sin.  
  
Fontridge stalked away and sat stiffly in his chair, the one positioned at the head of  
the table. He did not, however, once remove his scrutinizing gaze from his daughter.  
  
"Too easy... he will demand more shortly," Emelia thought to herself and glanced  
up to meet his icy gaze.  
  
She nudged her once touched plate a bit away, cueing that she was finished with  
the dinner. Her father observed her, his daughter's seemingly adult glint, the wild look  
that occasionally overtook her eyes, that faint but persistent blush which rose to color her  
generally pale cheeks. There was far more to find, but for now, for the sake of the meal,  
he would send her to her chambers for an early slumber.  
  
He waved his hand, gesturing that she might go, and then turned his hardened gaze  
towards his wife. She smiled, and then watched as Emelia casually rose from the chair  
and, dropping a slight curtsy, nearly ran from the room in a fit of anxiety.   
  
At the head of the table, Fontridge slammed his fist upon the wooden surface,  
sending a crystal goblet to its ultimate demise upon the hard, unforgiving floor. Red wine  
pooled about his feet, seeming like true blood spreading as he watched.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Emelia had only to turn the corner to know that her punishment would be quite  
brutal. She leaned against the smooth surface of the wall nearest by, and breathed deeply,  
chest heaving against the tight constraints of the unrelenting bodice. Her eyes flitted  
momentarily towards the dining room, and then she looked to the window across the way,  
showing the fading light of dusk.  
  
"I only wish that I could fly away with you, Jareth," she whispered, a single tear  
slipping down her cheek and dripping over the curve of her chin.  
  
Emelia forced herself away from the strength of the wall and slowly made her way  
to her room. The house and everything about it, simply drove in on her poor fragile soul,  
trying to crush hopes and destroy what little happiness she was able to call her own.   
Fontridge Manor was the devil, the destructive force that she knew she had to escape, or  
die trying.  
  
Her gaze once again stole out of the window, and down towards the  
well-maintained lawn. Many groundsmen toiled through the day to keep the garden in  
perfect condition. Or at least up to her father's standards, most of which were physically  
impossible. Emelia had learned that early on.  
  
However, down amidst the dying light of the setting sun, she noted a darker  
shadow, strolling along the edge of one of the large sculpted bushes along the outskirts of  
the emerald grass. She instantly rushed towards the window, threw it open and leaned out  
as far as she could, a smile plastered upon her youthful face.  
  
"Duncan!" she yelled, no longer in fear that her father would see his daughter  
fraternizing with the help.  
  
The young stable hand looked up, his face gone white and a general shock  
overcoming his poor body. A look of relief stole over his features the next instant, as he  
realized just whom had called out to him. He placed a trembling finger to his lips,  
signaling silence and then motioned further down, away from the dining chambers and  
Fontridge's prying eyes.  
  
Emelia watched attentively, throwing open the windows as she continued down  
the dismal passageway. Duncan, nervous as a mouse, stole fleeting glances over his  
shoulder, perhaps fearing a detective had happened on to his trail.   
  
"Is this all really necessary?" Emelia sighed and leaned against the window sill,  
chin placed lazily in the palm of her hand.  
  
Duncan hushed her again, and then slipped nearer to the manor's wall. His figure  
was momentarily out of sight, and Emelia leaned out dangerously far so as to see her  
friend. She did not catch sight of him, but did notice the trellice, lined with creeping ivy,  
which reached high up one side of the tall wall, seemed horribly dangerous and imposing  
and...  
  
A warm hand fell on her shoulder and Emelia nearly flew directly out the open  
window. She gripped the sill, knuckles going a frightening shade of white, and hauled  
herself back in. She placed a trembling hand to her chest and stared, wide eyed, at the  
now smiling Duncan.  
  
"You incorrigible, immature....," she began as Duncan fought against the laughter  
which poised directly behind his tightened lips.  
  
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Why did you call on me, my grand mistress?"   
Duncan chided, bowing as he scooped his hat low to the ground. The playful feather she  
had placed into the band actually scraped against the wooden floor.  
  
Emelia rolled her eyes and then snickered a bit at his antics. Duncan had been such  
a dear friend, far longer than any other she had ever known. Of course their close bond  
was frowned upon, and had been for nearly ten years now. Still, his family worked like no  
other servant, and her father regretfully allowed them to remain in employment... Duncan  
included.  
  
"I am in need of assistance, Duncan," Emelia replied, still half joking, but her tone  
had taken on a serious quality suddenly.  
  
Duncan edged in a bit closer and replaced his odd hat upon his head, cocking it a  
bit to one side in the process. Obviously he was attentive, waiting to see what mission he  
was to be sent on. Emelia had once called upon him for everything, just to see how long it  
would take Duncan to realize that half the messages she sent were to a person whom  
never existed. It had been quite fun, in those childhood years.  
  
Now, life had grown serious and adulthood stole over the face of youthful games.   
Love had waltzed, care-free, into the scene and Jareth's face overcame her entire soul.   
She sighed a bit at the mere thought of him and silently hoped that he could be reached,  
although Emelia had been to his small dwelling but once.  
  
"I need you to deliver a message, an important one, to someone real this time," she  
added, noting Duncan's annoyance with her old games.  
  
Duncan still appeared doubtful and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting to see  
exactly whom she had such an important note for. He was not about to leave without  
some form of details, so as to avoid embarrassment.  
  
"I am going to spread my wings, which have been clipped for so long, and fly away  
with someone who has brought more magic and fantasy into my life than any story I could  
ever read. You will bear my message to him, and offer him my heart through the written  
words. We must hurry along, time is so short," she whispered, her chestnut eyes  
darkening with each word.  
  
With that said she gripped her childhood playmate's hand and rushed him along to  
her chambers, and towards her newly discovered path.  
  



	20. The Show Must Go On

Chapter Eighteen: The Show Must Go On  
  
"Sarah!" the powerful booming voice completely shattered her enrapt state.  
  
Obediently, and completely shaken from the abrupt disturbance, Sarah glanced  
upwards to see the doorknob turning. Her heart sunk, mind froze and her hands very  
nearly lost any and all strength they had had. With only primal instincts of survival, she  
flung the diary beneath her pillow, and promptly fell on her back, snapping her eyes closed  
as the door opened into her room.  
  
There was no other spoken word, but rather brutal hands shaking at her insistently.   
Sarah jumped up, startled again and observed whom had been so rude, without any proper  
warning either... Peter was her guest, and his frenzied look told her that the news he was  
to deliver could be nothing but horrible.  
  
"You are my leading lady," he stated, and grabbed her hand firmly in his own, and  
forced her to rise to her feet, perhaps meaning to take her down to rehearsals.  
  
Sarah dug her heels diligently into the carpet, and grasped the bed's frame. She  
would not be taken away like this, against her will. She wrenched her hands free and  
glared at Peter, unsure of what to say following his sudden proclamation. Of course, such  
an opportunity was something only found in her dreams, and she would be ignorant to  
pass it up.  
  
"The play is done, Peter. Look at what has happened!" Sarah exclaimed, her mind  
drifting to thoughts of Gabrielle, and what had happened to her.  
  
Peter stopped and whirled around, fixing her with his gaze. There was no more of  
the spited lover in his thoughts, no more needs of romantic relationships. He wanted the  
play to continue, and would die to force the production on. Sarah, however, could not  
imagine such callousness, such a shallow attitude, and dismissed any considerations about  
taking the part.  
  
"I will not have it die. It's almost done, the script, I have only another two scenes.   
We are at the grand climax, and I can feel the rest waiting to be written shortly. My sleep  
has been fickle, but the inspiration will return, and I will prevail over the forces that stand  
against me. You will star in my masterpiece!" Peter demanded and then turned to storm  
out, but hesitated momentarily.  
  
His eyes were wild with fury, rage, and the eccentric nature which Sarah had noted  
upon their first meeting. Still, that same inkling she had taken for eccentrics, now had  
stepped fully into the realms of insanity. She easily recognized the lost glint, the  
disheveled hair, and wild final attempts at a normal existence. All had happened to her,  
when she had faced reality alone, with only Jareth's haunting presence.  
  
"You may do this easily, or fight against me. Either way, Sarah, I will prevail,"  
Peter replied in deadly tones, and then stormed out, slamming the door behind himself.  
  
"You will not order me!" Sarah yelled through the closed door.  
  
She rushed to it, grappling with the golden knob for a few moments before  
realizing that it had been locked, from the outside no less. Peter had made her a prisoner  
in her room, in the creepy mansion filled with ghosts that did not rest quietly. She  
shivered, and backed away from the door, and from the out-of-control feelings which  
threatened to wash over her.  
  
She shook her head, hands instinctively going to her long thick hair and threading  
through the strands of chestnut hue. This was not the way it was meant to happen. This  
had been her second chance, her hope for the future. Now, she was locked away, the last  
hope for a failing play write, and fearing the loss of her own sanity.  
  
"You always were one to cast aside dreams, Sarah," a rich velveteen voice  
caressed her from behind.  
  
She spun about, suddenly a sparse yard from the mighty Goblin King. However,  
his presence was less imposing, as she recalled the lovestruck youth that had been written  
about in Emelia's diary. Surely such a story could add humane qualities to even the most  
sinister of creatures.  
  
"I did not wish this," Sarah demanded and brushed past Jareth, heading to the bed  
to show what she had discovered in the woods, in the ruins.  
  
"There is no need, Sarah. I know what is in it quite well. Hundreds of years mean  
nothing to my memory, nor do I care what is written," he hissed, perhaps holding an  
almost fearful quality in the usual emotionless voice.  
  
Sarah turned on him, her eyes dark and her heart completely shattered at the  
cruelty present in his attitude. She strode in closer, far too near for comfort, and tilted her  
chin defiantly in the air. Jareth merely watched, perhaps half-interested in what she had to  
say. He placed his hands in the small of his back, beneath the ivory cloak he wore.  
  
"How could you not care? She loved you with every breath in her...," Sarah was  
stopped promptly as Jareth grasped her arms and forced her back to the bed.  
  
"Lies! I demand them ceased!" he stated, though the break in his calm nature  
shocked Sarah more than what had been said.  
  
Her hand instinctively slipped beneath the pillow, toying with the velvet cover.   
Jareth turned away, his emotions cloaked, but not as they had once been. Everything  
threatened to fall, to be forced into the open if he was faced with anything else. Yet, he  
could not leave, and Sarah watched with mild interest as he paced about the room,  
mentally arguing what should be done.  
  
He finally turned and his cold, mismatched gaze fell on the insignificant book  
which now rested in Sarah's lap. She watched, now entirely enthralled with what feelings  
were evoked with this part of his past brought into the present. Jareth paled and  
physically appeared to falter, stumbling backwards for but a moment as memories crashed  
against dams that had long been constructed against painful reveries.  
  
"You asked... you.... Your dream was bestowed upon you, Sarah, and now you  
deny the man whom offers you the lead," Jareth countered, trying in vain to ignore the  
familiar book which Emelia had occasionally written in while he had been by her side.  
  
Sarah cocked her head slightly, running a single palm over the cover of the diary.   
Jareth tore his gaze away and focused on her instead. His eyes bore into hers, searching  
or pleading for the memories to be destroyed before they completely ruined him. She was  
not about to put it aside.  
  
"Where is Gabrielle?" Sarah demanded as she rose from the bed and opened the  
diary to the first page.  
  
Jareth held his ground, yet appeared drained as she stepped ever nearer. The  
antique book held out at arm's length, like a shield against his tricks and incantations. The  
great Goblin King had once again underestimated her, and now would pay the price.  
  
"You have the lead, and sufferings have been forced on them, as they had forced  
pain upon you. Sarah, I have offered you your dreams, and they are shattered like crystals  
at your feet, while you dissipate into the realms of dark oblivion," Jareth's voice leaked  
out emotions, the mask of indifference having finally fallen away completely.  
  
Sarah paused at this, the familiar phrasing brought back a memory cloaked in the  
mist of forgetfulness. She had spoken during her fall, emotional pain shredding her heart  
in two, while her hopes and dreams were dashed on the floor. It had been but a slip of the  
tongue, something stated more to vent anger than truly wish such a curse on any living  
thing.  
  
Her surety faltered, and she promptly dropped the delicate diary to the ground. It  
shut, as if of its own free will. Sarah turned her gaze downwards and looked at the book.   
Jareth had silenced, but still his presence loomed around the room, magical auras  
encompassing her entire array of sensations.  
  
"I take it all back, a thousand times over. Take me instead, Jareth... I'll sacrifice  
myself," she moaned, now rushing towards the silent king and grasping his silken shirt in  
her trembling hands.  
  
He allowed a slanted grin to trace across his thin lips, and ran a single gentle finger  
over the subtle curve of her cheek. So similar it sent shivers along his spine. However,  
Sarah was different than Emily, something about this woman who now offered her entire  
life for those whom had cast her aside as garbage, shone more brilliantly than even the  
most magical creation. Her soul itself was a golden light of fantastic powers, holding true  
innate magic in its very depths. If only she knew, life would have been strikingly different.  
  
Jareth forced her hands to disentangle from his shirt and turned away. He could  
hear her sobs begin to overcome and tried in desperation to block them. He was the  
Goblin King, one who did not obey the emotional outbursts of simple mortal women.   
  
"Jareth please. I give you my freedom, my body, anything," she moaned as she fell  
to her knees behind him.  
  
Jareth turned at that, the proposal generally interesting. Yet, there was no Sarah  
kneeling on the ground, openly weeping into her hands. She had gone, flown quickly into  
the dark corner which served as her safety from the world. The golden soul was tarnished  
and emanated only the scantiest amount of residual magic.  
  
"I once would have longed for such an offer, Sarah, but the part of you that caught  
my eye is too far gone. Even my greatest powers cannot alter your deterioration, but only  
yourself," Jareth whispered, eyes cold and emotionless as he spoke.  
  
Sarah hitched in a deep breath, her confusion evident but she would not question  
what he had said. Jareth stared at her a moment longer and then turned with a graceful  
sweep of his ivory cloak, and took flight as the snow-white barn owl.   
  
Sarah watched, jaw slack in shock and perhaps a touch of revelation. She reached  
out, her hand shaking as it fully extended towards the still open window. Tears just  
recently spent were suddenly dried, and her eyes shone with the remnants of the moisture.   
Large chocolate spheres, windows to the soul, overwhelmed by reality, and now tantalized  
by prospects of fantasy.  
  
"Jareth!" she screamed and leapt to her feet, trying to catch the mighty king before  
he left completely.  
  
She knew already that she was, by far, too late. There was not a single trace of the  
white owl soaring through the crystalline, clear blue sky. Jareth had already returned to  
the Underground, to see to his new prisoners, which she sentenced through her own  
thoughtless words.  
  
Sarah turned after a short sigh and looked at the locked door. She too was a  
prisoner in her own room. Fontridge's promise of a new future had collapsed beneath her,  
and had instead drawn her into the past, one that had warped horridly. With the general  
depressed mood lingering over her lowered head, Sarah made her way back to the door  
and laid a limp hand atop the golden knob.  
  
"Peter?! Please, let me out," she begged, but her voice cracked and she knew  
already that no one would hear her. They would be by at their own time, and only then  
could she tell them of her change of heart.  
  
Sarah slid her hand across the smooth metal, allowing it to cool her fingertips.   
Under the scant pressure the knob turned, and an overwhelmingly final click echoed  
through her mind, magnified tenfold as her freedom was allowed. Sarah watched, eyes  
wide, as the door swung open and revealed the dimly lit passageway.  
  
She could leave, easily make her way out as the others still prepared for the  
insignificant play. There was her home, her old life, and even her parents to return to.   
Yet, there were those who would never be given the opportunity because she had cast a  
horrid fate upon them. Her decision was made before she had a chance to actually truly  
contemplate her options.  
  
"I understand, Jareth, and now I must fight back," she uttered in a low monotone.  
  
Quickly she reentered the room and took the diary gently into her arms. She  
placed it safely beneath her pillows, away from prying eyes. Then, taking the script that  
she had wrapped again with the ribbon, made her way from the room. The show would  
go on!  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Peter slammed his hands down upon the piano, producing a horrible wrenching  
sound of clashing tones. The other actors jumped, their nerves still never recovered from  
the shock they had sustained the night prior. All still feared what had taken the three  
whom were found missing.  
  
"The song will not come!" he practically yelled, barely containing the urge to strike  
at the instrument once again.  
  
He began playing, allowing a calm breath to pass through his lungs and control the  
fury of emotions which attacked his every thought. Such conditions were not optimal for  
the creation of literary and musical masterpieces. He needed silence, reassurance, a  
leading woman to aid in the harmony.  
  
The young blonde man stepped forward as the song began once more. He cleared  
his throat and then held out the paper which had several sprawling lines written upon it, in  
Peter's quick script.  
  
He began, but was promptly cut off by the abrupt slam of the far door. All eyes  
turned, and Peter's accompaniment came to a garbled halt. He nearly threw the script to  
the ground, as well as the music that he had spent ages trying to perfect. The songs, all  
that remained along with the final act, had proven to be so very tedious.  
  
Sarah hurried in, her eyes intent and suddenly determination set her jaw. She  
stood beside Peter, dropped the script to the ground and then found her place beside the  
tall blonde actor, whom had treated her so poorly before. She then looked at Peter, to  
await the start of the song.   
  
Sarah knew precisely what the play was about and, although she couldn't recite  
word for word, she could nearly perform it without rehearsing. For, it had finally clicked  
into place, and things had begun to make sense. The play was about Emelia, about the  
myth, which most certainly was nothing short of the truth, surrounding Fontridge. With  
the diary, Sarah now understood that she could not turn down the lead roll, and the  
chance to play the lovely Emelia, alongside a fake Goblin King. She looked at the blonde  
actor nearby and remained silent.   
  
Peter said nothing, but rather sat in utter shock. The door had been locked, he had  
been sure of it, but now she stood here as if she belonged like everyone else. Of course,  
he had offered her the lead role, and now it appeared as if she had decided to take it. One  
problem solved.  
  
He turned and found the keys, then looking at the sheet music, began to play.   
Sarah faltered noticeably as the familiar melody drifted through the theatre, but she  
composed herself and found a strange reminiscent sensation steal through her mind and  
take control. She was unable to stop herself.  
  
"There's no living in my life anymore  
The seas have gone dry and the rain stopped falling.  
Please don't you cry anymore.  
Can't you see?  
Listen to the breeze, whisper to me please...," Sarah hindered a moment as Peter's  
music stopped, for this was as far as he had gotten in his writing.  
  
Then, as if driven by instinct alone, she began again, much to everyone's shock.   
Peter himself sat still, as if a statue, head in hands and listening as the song, that had been  
just beyond his grasps, took form through her lovely voice.  
  
"..don't send me to the path of nevermore.  
Even the valleys below.  
Where the rays of the sun were so warm and tender,  
Now haven't anything to grow.  
Can't you see?  
Why did you have to leave me?  
Why did you deceive me?" Sarah stopped again, tears streaming down her face  
and her last line became more accusatory than ever.  
  
In her mind's eye she could see Jareth. His sly face, always grinning as if he knew  
what no one else could even guess at. She swallowed deeply, sobbing now, but  
determined to finish. She turned to look at Peter, who had at last turned his wary eyes  
towards her. He was actually smiling.  
  
"You send me to the path of nevermore,  
When you say you...you didn't l-love me anymore," at this she completely stopped  
and turned from everyone, trying to find some form of escape.  
  
She slunk to one of the leather couches, and curled up against the far arm. Her  
arms wrapped about her knees, drawing them to her chest, and her bare feet rested upon  
the leather furniture. No one uttered a word to break the unnerving silence, which hung...  
or rather loomed from every side.  
  
All the while Sarah could hear the song's title echo through her mind, in a voice  
that was not hers. His rich voice continued again and again, as if a broken record taunting  
her to no end.   
  
"Nevermore...," Jareth's voice continued and she placed her trembling hands over  
her ears, but the hidden meaning behind the song's words bombarded her, despite fighting  
against it.   
  
Somewhere a crystal laid balanced atop ivory gloves, reflections of mismatched  
eyes cast upon its smooth surface. And somewhere that same magical being allowed a  
wan smile to play over his pale features, and cast a ghost of happiness upon a usually  
somber mask. Then the crystal faded, as did the reflection, as did the smile...  
  



	21. There are Secrets... Dark Secrets

Chapter Nineteen: There are Secrets... Dark Secrets  
  
"I cannot view her any longer," Jareth whispered as he rose quickly from his  
throne to glare at the unexpected guest.  
  
The ancient mystic did not look up, but rather remained in the center of the room,  
his eyes fixed upon the uneven ground. His navy robe covered every inch of his body, and  
kept his face in eternal shadows. Jareth waited for some explanation as to why his privacy  
had been disturbed, when at last the goblins had been driven out for the time being.  
  
Jareth ran his tongue over his teeth and then began towards his advisor. Each step  
echoed throughout the castle, and they came one after the other, so achingly slowly. He  
drew out each approaching movement, but not once did the darkly mysterious ancient  
shudder in apprehension of the angered Goblin King.  
  
"Well...?" Jareth demanded, soon losing what little interest he had had in the  
situation.  
  
At this Flagg raised his head and peered at the King through shadows cast by spells  
and heavy material. His presence was easily blocked, and just as quickly forgotten. Such  
is the way of his kind, those that always existed, and would never cease. A smile graced  
his face, one that would cause children to scream and mongrels to die.   
  
"My Lord, I am at your service as always. I have come only to deliver a  
message... from the Royal Court," he whispered in a strange foreboding tone.  
  
Jareth lunged forward and nearly ripped the rolled parchment from Flagg's  
extended hand. He then turned, dismissing the mystic at once, so as to leave him with this  
news which would certainly prove to be of the negative sort. Never once had Jareth  
received anything that could bestow an optimistic mood.  
  
Flagg bowed deeply, though the gesture was ill-spent. The King did not so much  
as acknowledge the show of respect, but remained with back to the dark, ancient soul.   
Flagg rose and allowed the same grin of death to grace his gaunt features, and then made  
his way from the throne room.  
  
Jareth waited, held his temper until fully certain that there were none near at hand  
whom could witness his outburst. Then, with a guttural growl, flung the scroll to the  
stony ground and glared at the golden script which had graced the bottom. A signature of  
the royal court, of the high elder himself no less. Once again, the Goblin King's affairs  
were not his own.  
  
"You have stepped into my life for the final time," he stated with a sneer and then  
kicked the paper across the room, hoping that some stray goblin would devour the vile  
message.  
  
Still, it had made its imprint already. Warnings, rules, regulations, all that had been  
carefully told to him before. He could remember all that was said, countless reminders  
sent with casual threats intermingled with wishes of good will. The workings of the great  
court were still a mystery to him, even after his centuries of rule in the Underground.  
  
**Intermingling with human affairs beyond the point of necessity.... Daring to  
delve into physical relationships with the dwellers of the mortal realm... This is not heard  
of, and shall be restricted to the uttermost extent of the binding law.... There can be no  
defiance, no falsifications, and entire cooperation is demanded.... Let us not repeat what  
occurred the last time!**  
  
Jareth heard sections from the latest message repeat in his mind. It would be best  
to cast aside what hold he had finally won over the girl, and return to life as usual. A  
recluse existence as ruler over heathens, and for one whose power could better or at least  
match any one of the Royal court. His presence, however, was no longer required, nor  
wanted. He had soiled his good name by way of mingling with humans.  
  
"So here I rule," Jareth stated sarcastically as he made a sweeping gesture with one  
gloved hand.  
  
Outside the arched doorway a shadow hesitated, just nearly in view. Jareth paused  
his ranting and waited, almost patiently for the approach of his previous guest. Flagg was  
not one to be left out. After all, he had been appointed Jareth's advisor.  
  
"What was that, my lord?" the darkly cloaked man inquired as he paused at the  
doorway.  
  
"The past," Jareth replied and then brushed aside his shaded answers with a slight  
laugh.  
  
He rose from his throne, clasping his hands together and then shaking them  
towards the message which laid crumpled on the ground. Flagg's gaze momentarily  
averted to what Jareth had gestured towards, and then returned to his king. The Fae lord  
had moved once more, and now rested upon the window sill, gazing out at his labyrinth,  
with one slender leg dangling outside.  
  
"I rule it all, and lands beyond that the eye cannot see, and yet I too am governed.   
It is quite odd at times," Jareth remarked and then turned to look back at Flagg whom  
seemed exceptionally interested in the Goblin King's angered words.  
  
Jareth casually produced yet another spherical crystal and gazed somberly into its  
blackened depths. Once more it would not show him what he willed, but instead revealed  
cold darkness. She was beyond his reach now, as were so many others whom had allowed  
themselves to be overcome by the sly tricks of reality.  
  
Flagg waited patiently at hand, his face blank, emotionless, but mind working over  
what had been partially revealed. The dark being appeared almost attentive, and perhaps  
fooled the King with his silent, submissive nature.   
  
"Power beyond the reaches of most minds, and I am kept in restraints by...," Jareth  
gestured back towards the rolled manuscript with a slight bob of his head.  
  
Flagg did not turn this time, but instead remained silent, observant, taking mental  
notes of what was said. He had seen Jareth in this sort of mood only once before, when  
he had happened across the king during the dark of night. That time had been incited by a  
warning of the same nature that had been delivered moments earlier.  
  
"They wish to give me proper warning, so that I will not make the same mistake  
twice. Their courts do not want any imperfections present," Jareth whispered, his jaw set  
against the anger that boiled within.  
  
Jareth twirled the dark crystal about a bit more and then allowed it to plummet to  
the ground below. He watched, tracking the plummeting orb as it sunk closer to impact  
and then simply disappeared. There was no smash, nor shatter, but just oblivion where  
once there had been the magical sphere. The joys of magic intervene once more.  
  
Jareth swung around, and brought his entire body back into the castle, fixing Flagg  
with his intense gaze. He cocked his head to one side, as if scrutinizing the dark advisor,  
and then rose to his feet.  
  
"Why must you insist on wearing that thing?" Jareth questioned, pulled a bit at the  
heavy robe that always kept Flagg carefully hidden.  
  
"It is what I find convenient," the mystic stated in even tones.   
  
However, to avoid further comments, Flagg readily pulled the hood from his head,  
allowing it to rest against his back. Jareth acknowledged the man, whom he had seen only  
a handful of times, and then hesitated. Strange sensations of anxiety crept across his skin  
at the sight of Flagg's black eyes; so Jareth quickly turned to lean against his throne.  
  
The advisor waited patiently, his features still emotionless even when subject to the  
roaming eye. His raven hair laid across his shoulders, sweeping downwards near to the  
middle of his back. His skin was ivory in shade, white to a greater extent than Jareth's.   
The contrast of black upon such a pallor was dramatic, and made one believe that such a  
presence would never be forgotten. That, however, was not so.  
  
"There are secrets, Flagg.... dark secrets that they do not wish to be known,"  
Jareth relented as he looked long at the scroll which still laid on the ground.  
  
Flagg edged in at the mysterious words uttered by Jareth. The Goblin King rarely  
allowed such hidden truths to be brought into the light. The ancient's eyes shimmered  
with white lightning flashes, against the jet black unity of iris and pupil. His breath  
remained held, as he waited, although the demeanor remained calm, and tranquil.  
  
After long last the Fae lord laughed briefly and then shook his noble head. His  
mismatched eyes turned to meet Flagg's own anticipating gaze, and noted an emotion  
hidden behind the dark mask which the magician wore so very often. Jareth's words  
ceased and he cleared his throat, fearing his own life as he saw the demon through Flagg's  
jet black eyes.  
  
"Youthful naiveté, nothing of any importance. You are welcome to remain, but I  
am going to retire to my chambers before my subjects return from their most recent  
outing," Jareth remarked as he rose to full imposing stature.  
  
Flagg flipped his heavy hood back over his head, blocking those blank eyes behind  
a veil of darkness. He bowed respectively and began to leave, although the king had  
offered him the chance to remain in the throne room. However, he paused momentarily at  
the doorway and glanced back at Jareth, whom remained attentive, hands clasped behind  
his back.  
  
"When the time comes, my lord, I will listen to what you have to say," Flagg  
remarked, and a gust of icy wind burst through the nearby window to accompany his chilly  
voice.  
  
"I will remember that," Jareth stated, his voice even, emotionless as he responded.  
  
Flagg nodded briefly and then walked slowly into the hallway. The echo of his  
shoes upon the stone floor came to Jareth, perhaps even minutes after the dark robed  
figure had first gone from sight. Only when the infernal sound ceased, did Jareth relent to  
the thousands of thoughts which invaded his mind all at once. He quickly strode from the  
room, needing the privacy offered only in his personal chambers.  
  
While he walked, despite desperate attempts to will away the past, her face  
resurfaced time and again. With each faded photograph of memory brought before his  
mind, throws of pain inflicted by the opening of a never healed wound, attacked his soul.   
She had captivated his entire life with her presence, and had seemed to be equally in love  
with him. Had he only known...  
  
Jareth threw open the grand oaken double doors and barged into his room, breath  
coming in quickened gasps. He ignored the swinging doors, scarcely missing them as they  
returned violently to their door frame, and secured with a resounding slam. His shaking  
gaze slowly looked up the far wall, until falling upon her lovely pale skin, locks of chestnut  
hair pulled into a network of spirals, and those deep chocolate eyes. So very similar to the  
one whom he know feared he had lost, but so very different as well.  
  
"Emelia."  
  



	22. My White Queen... part 1

Chapter Twenty, part 1: "My White Queen"  
  
* * It had been fate and destiny working in unison that night, that brought the  
unfortunate circumstances together. If he had but returned to the Labyrinth, and his  
castle, then the message would never have been written, and hasty, youthful plans would  
have never been formulated. Yet, fate was cruel, and had worked it just so.... that all the  
pieces fell easily into place.* *  
  
A sharp and persistent series of knocks had first roused Jareth from his listless  
slumber. Dreams, such strange spells concocted by the unconscious, had plagued him  
recently. Most notably were the occasions he spent the night within the mortal realm. It  
seemed he became fair prey to any and all night terrors, or fantasies, ever imagined by  
man.  
  
He rose, feeling a slight touch of grogginess. More human emotions and  
experiences that would not be appreciated in the Underground. Such "weakness" was  
frowned upon. Jareth swept a hand through the wild mass of blonde hair, which instantly  
groomed itself as the magic interwove between each strand.  
  
"Who calls at such a late hour?" Jareth asked, his hand resting lightly upon the  
handle of his simple wooden door.  
  
At first there was no answer, no sound to cease the sudden silence. The knocks  
had stopped almost at the time that Jareth had finally risen from the bed. Now, the visitor  
appeared to have disappeared, faded off into oblivion to allow Jareth more restful slumber.   
He turned towards the slight bed.  
  
"I bear a message," the stranger squeaked out from beyond the door.  
  
Jareth paused once more and glanced over his shoulder. He carefully deliberated  
what course to take, and finally relented. There were few worthy matches for Jareth  
found in the mortal world, what with his gift of magic and immortal nature. He quickly  
swung the door open and gazed at the short lad whom recoiled at the sight.  
  
Jareth leaned casually against the door frame, his poet's shirt catching the breeze  
and coming to life with rippling waves. The young boy said nothing, but merely appeared  
hypnotized by Jareth's presence. In one hand was held a crumpled sheet of paper, scented  
faintly of some divine oil that drifted upon the wind.  
  
"Come, come boy, I haven't got all day," Jareth remarked, rushing the servant  
along with half-hearted urgings.  
  
The messenger shook his head, physically dragging himself from the self-induced  
paralysis. He averted his gaze to the letter and then hesitated once more, before offering it  
to Jareth in one trembling hand. It was all quite humorous, what with the boy's endless  
shivering and downcast eyes. Few had the power to meet Jareth's overwhelming gaze.  
  
"It is from Miss Emelia Fontridge, sir," the boy stuttered, backing a step away as  
Jareth snatched the letter.  
  
He very nearly left, turning to go back into the small cottage, and then realized that  
the boy had yet to leave. Despite his fear and obvious yearning to run, still the messenger  
remained. Jareth smiled, genuinely trying to remove the predatory glint from his usual  
grin, but decided that the attempts were in vain. The boy shrank away noticeably and  
could have easily lost all control on the spot.  
  
"Come in, so that I might send a response to fair Emelia," Jareth gestured inside as  
he beckoned the boy to do as he said.  
  
The young messenger grew pale, and a fine sheen of sweat graced his furrowed  
brow. He scuffed the toe of his worn-down shoes in the dirt, as he contemplated his  
decision. True, the man was a close friend of Emelia's, which led to assume that he was  
not dangerous. However, his gut told him otherwise.  
  
Despite all precaution the young messenger stepped over the threshold and into the  
simple cottage, carefully avoiding Jareth in the process. He cringed noticeably as the door  
shut, and found himself suddenly trapped within the home of a stranger. The young man  
gulped and promptly turned to face the tall and slender host.  
  
"What shall I call you?" Jareth questioned as he began to open the letter, working  
at the wax seal for a few extra moments, in which his mismatched eyes turned to meet the  
messenger's.  
  
There was a short pause and the terrified young boy stared blankly into Jareth's  
hypnotic gaze. He easily noted the two distinct colors, and recalled such tales told of  
those with such physical oddities. He took another step back and stumbled a bit over his  
words.  
  
"Duncan, sir," he stuttered and grasped the strange cap from his head, fumbling a  
bit with the oversized feather.  
  
Jareth nodded in appreciation and then leant against the nearest wall, eyes flicking  
over the letter which he had received. He paused a second and turned to glance at  
Duncan, whom waited almost patiently, if it had not been for his fidgeting feet and  
shivering legs. At least the boy was trustworthy, that much could be seen through the  
cowardly exterior.  
  
"She sent this by way of you? This very night?" Jareth demanded, as he shook the  
scented paper in one hand.  
  
Duncan nodded vehemently, recoiling and closing his eyes in reaction to Jareth's  
sudden intensity. There was no more interrogation, for Jareth merely rushed to his own  
desk and produced a glass jar of ink, along with a freshly sharpened quill. He placed  
himself gracefully upon the chair and instantly began to write.  
  
"Come here, Duncan!" Jareth ordered as he finished the short note with a dramatic  
flourish of a signature. The final swirl ending with a pronounced blot of ink, almost as if  
the line exploded at the finale.  
  
Jareth merely folded the paper, not willing to go through the formalities of sealing,  
not with a character such as Duncan. There was no chance of the young messenger  
glancing inside, for such an action would certainly anger Jareth. Duncan appeared far too  
passive to incite any type of rage.  
  
Duncan took the offered note and placed it firmly into his coat pocket, assuring  
himself that it was safe with a slight pat of his hand. He then turned to look at Jareth once  
more, waiting for instructions to accompany the latest message.  
  
"Deliver it to Emily, no one else can see what is written there. Now run, boy!"  
Jareth demanded and sprung upwards, nearly frightening Duncan to the point of collapse.  
  
The young messenger rushed to the door and, flinging it open, raced into the cool  
night. Never had he been so rejoiced to be out in the country, and free from shelter. He  
glanced back once, and watched as the door shut, seemingly of its own accord. With that  
thought firmly in mind, he ran the whole distance to Emelia, never once pausing for  
breath.  
  
Jareth observed the young messenger race across the dirt path, wondering if he had  
thought enough before sending the letter to Emily. He turned, hand running through his  
golden hair in thought, and then his gaze fell upon the dark steed, standing tranquilly a few  
feet ahead, grazing.  
  
"Come," Jareth summoned, and the horse lifted his noble head, mane drifting  
gently in the slight breeze.  
  
The stallion walked, head bowed in respect towards his master. His flowing tail  
swished , batting at the biting insects of the mortal world. Such an animal as this had not  
been accustomed to life in quaint settings, but instead had been born and raised in the  
royal stables of the Underground.  
  
"Go to her, and bring her quickly to me," Jareth demanded, stroking the horse's  
velveteen muzzle with the palm of his hand.  
  
With a flourish of magic Jareth produced a lovely, immaculate white rose. Its  
sharp thorns removed already. He threaded it into the stallions ebony mane, and then  
patted the majestic creature once more.   
  
Emelia had seen the stallion only one other time. She had marveled over the  
animal, but Jareth doubted that her memory would work when her mind was so focused  
on other things. The rose would bear as a reminder for her, as to who owned the horse.   
She would trust him then.  
  
In a instant the steed galloped off, racing after the messenger who was already far  
from sight. It would not be long. With that thought, Jareth returned to the simple home,  
waiting until the time came for him to leave as well.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
He heard the sounds of footsteps, limbs crashing through overgrown foliage, and  
the telltale nicker from the quickly halted steed. Jareth rose from his sitting position upon  
the chunk of fallen masonry. His heavy cloak, worn to keep the icy weather from chilling  
his bones, was caught in a passing breeze and snapped around his body.   
  
A hushed voice followed, nearer now, and speaking to the excited horse as she led  
it further towards the clearing. Vines were cast aside, and branches swung upwards to  
allow passage beneath, ever drawing closer, so that Jareth could nearly smell the sweet  
scent of Emelia.   
  
Her hand broke through the thick barrier of leaves, bushes, and vines, and swept  
aside nature's curtain. She paused their momentarily, gazing at her lover whom remained  
standing, as if a perfect statue. In that single breathtaking moment, she could see the  
magic encircle Jareth, transforming him into something that never belonged in her world.   
His golden locks of hair flowed freely in the wind, while his cloak danced about his strong  
shoulders. His noble, aquiline features, highlighted by the silver moonlight, bore an  
expression of joy, and perhaps a touch of fear.   
  
"Emily," Jareth's voice broke her transfixed state and she physically shook the  
shock from herself.  
  
She glanced backwards, tugging a bit more at the horse's reins. She knew already  
that the grand steed belonged to her lover, for never had such a majestic horse been seen.   
The black balked, tearing ahead of her and through the overgrown wall of foliage. Emelia  
lurched after him, her hand momentarily caught in the reins as the powerful animal surged  
into the clearing.  
  
With a muffled gasp, Emelia broke free from the dangling reins and collapsed to  
the ground. She instantly turned her gaze towards the horse, brushing aside stray strands  
of thick chestnut hair. The wild animal, that had seemed ready to run further into the  
forest, and lose itself among the unfamiliar environment, was standing calmly beside  
Jareth, its head bowed to nibble at the patchy grass.  
  
"How...?" she began, but stopped herself as Jareth left the now calmed steed and  
approached his fallen lover.   
  
He knelt beside her, hands brushing through her tangled mass of hair so tenderly,  
as if a father looking after his daughter. She tried to rise to her feet, but found her ankle  
searing with pain, and an ugly bruise beginning to show in a striking hue of purple and  
blues. Emelia cringed against the sudden onslaught of agony and squinted her shimmering  
copper eyes shut.  
  
"Keep those chestnut eyes closed, my love," Jareth whispered and tenderly pressed  
his lips against her forehead.  
  
Emelia did as she was told and waited in anticipation for what was to come. Then  
his hand, warm at first, touched the tender damaged area of her ankle. His palms encircled  
her slender leg, sending brief, but nonetheless tantalizing tingles all along her flesh. She  
shivered, and then winced as another spasm of pain shot down the extent of her calf.  
  
His touched cooled, and became icy against her skin. The odd vibrating aura,  
which seemed almost to emanate from Jareth's hands, continued to caress her injury, until  
she was fairly certain that she could no longer feel it. Emelia swallowed and licked her  
lips with nervous anxiety.   
  
"What have you done, Jareth?" she asked, reaching out with one hand to stroke  
the silken shirt worn by her love.  
  
Jareth removed his hands quickly, and grasped her icy fingers firmly, rubbing his  
warm palms against them to drive away the chill. Emelia smiled and then allowed the grin  
to fade, now overly curious about what the secret had been for.   
  
"May I open my eyes now, sir?" she inquired, her rosy lips curling a touch at each  
corner as she waited for his response.  
  
"You may, and come with me as well," Jareth proclaimed as he rose to his feet and  
walked away.  
  
Emelia snapped open her wondering eyes and turned her gaze immediately to her  
exposed ankle. She momentarily allowed her thoughts to drift back to her father, to what  
he would think of a woman who allowed her skin to be seen in such a manner, by a man  
no less. Her good spirits faltered noticeably, but she straightened her navy dress and then  
turned to look at her lovely young beau.  
  
"Well, will you not help a lady to her feet?" she inquired, extending a pristine  
white-gloved hand towards him.  
  
Jareth slowly strolled back, his grin absolutely predatory as he circled her twice  
and then took her offered hand into his own. He brushed his fingertips along her palm,  
and then drew the innocent glove from her skin, allowing it to be free to the elements. His  
touch electrified her flesh, sending a shiver of goosebumps across her arm.  
  
Then, without warning nor hesitation, Jareth pulled her to him. Emelia anticipated  
the surge of pain that would envelope her entire being, as full weight was born by her  
injured ankle. However, the surprise was placed solely on her, as there was no agony to  
be felt. She bent her ankle a few times and then turned her questioning gaze to Jareth,  
whom merely smiled knowingly.  
  
"You've bewitched me," Emelia stated, shock and fear intermingling in her shaken  
voice.  
  
Jareth shook his head and gently took her flushed face into his magical hands. Her  
eyes widened and she withstood his gentle urges to come nearer to his side. Emelia  
straightened her lips, tightening them until they became but a thin white line. She pushed  
at him briefly with her balled fists, but relented after only a slight attempt at escape.  
  
Jareth threaded his hands through her lovely hair, loosening it till it laid free over  
her shoulders and down her back. She appeared so youthful, barely even a woman as she  
stood there, her chest heaving with each breath against the cinched corset she wore. Her  
cheeks still held a pale pink shade, as she recovered from the original shock of being  
healed by his touch alone.   
  
"Emily, I would never harm you. There are some things you will understand with  
time. Allow this to be one of those many questions that I will answer in the days to  
come," he whispered, and closed his statement with the softest kiss.  
  
Emelia nodded, and laid her head against his powerful shoulder. His scent  
wrapped about her, hints of nature, power, and divine unknown mysteries surrounded him  
entirely. She wished to be allowed into his world, for it appeared so marvelous from her  
vantage point. She hoped that soon, when they made their life together, Jareth would do  
just that.  
  
His hands snaked along her back, working at the laced bodice as he pressed his  
warm lips more firmly against her own. Emelia returned his passion, wrapping her slender  
arms about his neck, all the while feeling her attire slipping towards the forest floor. She  
had sinned so often, now there was little to do to save her blackened soul. Emelia merely  
relented, understanding that she would have it no other way.  
  
"Wait!" Emelia cried, backing away from Jareth intoxicating grip as she was  
overcome with a revelation.  
  
Jareth straightened his simple shirt and crossed his arm, awaiting her grand  
proclamation. Emelia tugged at the slipping dress, holding it over her shoulders with only  
a great amount of strife. Jareth watched all this with a mild smile gracing his amused face.  
  
"We have no time for this, Jareth. We must away, at once! My father...," she was  
silenced instantly by Jareth's hand, pressed against her mouth.  
  
He had moved with the speed and agility of a cat, suddenly being directly in front  
of her and ending her speech. Emelia waited to hear why Jareth had seen it necessary to  
halt her urges to leave, when her worries were very well-founded. She was not merely  
fretting over some trivial matter, but rather the complications that could easily destroy  
their life together.  
  
"We do not leave tonight, Emily," Jareth stated suddenly, his eyes turning towards  
the darkened night sky, and the lantern which he had brought, that now nestled upon the  
ground.  
  
Emily followed his gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She turned her eyes  
back towards Jareth, narrowed in anger. She had stolen from her house past the time she  
was due to be in her chambers, and would most certainly be found out if she attempted a  
return at this hour. It was all too dangerous, and she would be punished for life if caught.  
  
Emily pulled his hand away from her lips and then fixed Jareth with her most  
stubborn gaze she could manage. She was not about to back down, for her freedom relied  
entirely on this night alone.  
  
"We must. My father will sentence me to life in my chambers, and have you  
beheaded before you are given a chance to run," Emelia moaned, gripping Jareth's hand  
with frightened intensity.  
  
"He will not find you tonight, as you return, nor will he know you have been out.   
We shall leave tomorrow, by the moonlight, as there is to be a full one. We will meet at  
the bridge, nearer to your home, Emily, and leave together, free at last," Jareth whispered,  
and turned his eyes towards her.  
  
They burned with fire and ice, both extremes. Emelia found herself unable to look  
away, and so remained locked with him for a few breathtaking moments. Then he closed  
the distance between their two bodies and kissed her passionately, begging for more, but  
already aware that their time was gone, for that night. Jareth pulled away and then turned  
to look at the grazing stallion.  
  
The horse instantly raised its magnificent head, nostrils flaring for a few moments  
until it noted Jareth, standing in the illumination offered by the lantern. The steed walked  
towards him, rubbing against his shoulder in a show of affection.  
  
"Ride safely, my love," Jareth stated, as he helped Emelia on to the saddle.  
  
She turned to look at him, eyes widened in genuine fear, but there truly was  
nothing to worry. He handled everything. Her father and mother would sleep as she  
returned, and rise in unusually happy moods. Emelia would slip away as they slept the  
next night, and they would be free. It seemed almost too easy.  
  
Jareth stepped away as she rode out, beneath the overhanging branches. She  
would find it far easier to return, than it had been to make her way into the clearing. The  
foliage appeared to jump from her path, and then vines all swung oddly in some unseen  
wind, just in time to avoid her as she passed by. Jareth could see it all, though she had  
already ridden far from sight.  
  
"I shall see you tomorrow, my lovely white queen," he whispered and then  
carefully stepped into the shadows, soon fading into nothingness.  



	23. Betrayal and Conviction... part 2

Chapter Twenty, part 2: Betrayal and Conviction  
  
Then he had returned...  
  
There had been much to handle according to royal affairs before throwing his  
previous life to the wind. Jareth had hastened his way to the Underground, well aware of  
the law that would be completely shattered when he at last joined Emily on the mortal  
world. Great precautions had been taken, and he had used the utmost stealth in the careful  
plans he had formulated.  
  
It had, however, all been for naught. Jareth tore his frozen gaze away from the  
aging painting and walked further into his chambers. A cold breeze touched his face, as it  
snaked in from behind the heavy velvet curtains. With that, the Goblin King was reminded  
of his precarious position, restrictions that had been placed upon him, and "their" watchful  
gazes, forever fixated upon his life. He would have no privacy, not after what had  
occurred with Emelia.  
  
"And now you enter my life again, and do not think that I am not well aware of  
your spies that hide among those dull-witted faces," Jareth sneered as he briefly cast the  
curtain aside to look out into the clear sky.  
  
One could easily take the Fae lord as being paranoid. Nonetheless, those eyes,  
diligently watchful, and originating from the royal court itself, were felt in every dark  
corner and behind each door left ajar. Jareth could feel the steady gaze upon his back, and  
no matter how he turned, it was forever behind him. A shiver stole its way down his spine  
at the revelation and he forced the thoughts from his mind.  
  
Despite the perfect planning, the lovestruck stupor of youthful days was forever  
gone. It had turned to dust, and taken the path of the wind. Time would never turn back,  
although Jareth claimed control over the very clocks of the Labyrinth, he could never  
change the past. It was as it was, and that was to be accepted.  
  
No matter how much one wished it could be different...  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
It had already broken into daylight when Jareth arrived back into the Underground.   
He had yet to be granted the "enlightening" position as Goblin King, though the  
"privilege" was not far off. Instead Jareth still had remained in his father's castle, awaiting  
the day that he, as eldest in the family, would receive the rule of the fae kingdom.  
  
He had traveled by form of the owl, hoping that the disguise would discourage  
guards from recognizing the youthful prince and informing others of his truancy. He  
lighted upon the windowsill, observing the goings on within his chamber through the  
golden eyes of the owl.   
  
A simple minded maid, whom he had toyed with countless times, was dutifully  
changing a bed that had not been slept in. She would never dare to speak a word of the  
young master's absence, in fear of punishment, or banishment, or perhaps death. There  
would be no end for such blasphemy, when it was proved that Jareth had, in fact, remained  
the night elsewhere in the expansive castle.  
  
He beat his wings in anxious impatience, and watched as the doe-eyed maid looked  
towards him. She bowed respectfully and, gathering the linen in her arms, hurried from  
the room, never once glancing back. Such servants were difficult to find, but came in  
quite handy when he was to sneak back in, unnoticed.  
  
Jareth flew into the room amidst a fury of magical spectacles. He had never been  
one for a mediocre entrance. Instantly, the handsome youth stood, where only moments  
earlier had been the feathered form of the owl. Spent magic cascaded upon the pristine  
floor in the form of shattered gems, which hastened to nothingness shortly later.  
  
He paid no heed to anything, but instead strode quickly from his room, adjusting  
his clothing as he left. It was not proper to be seen in such peasant attire when in the  
company of his royal family. With a mere flick of his wrist he was clothed fittingly, an  
ivory cloak draped over his shoulders, and matched perfectly with the pants and jacket of  
the same perfect white. Golden tooling and embroidering adorned his jacket, and worked  
its way along the arms and over the collar.  
  
He burst into the corridor, startling several passing ladies, who instantly chirped  
sweet laughter into the air. Jareth merely bowed, taking the hand of the young woman  
closest, and kissed it tenderly. He turned his mismatched eyes upwards, meeting her  
melting gaze, and then graced her with a striking smile. She fairly swooned into the  
crowd of those behind her, but managed to compose herself.  
  
"You are as lovely as the morning, milady," Jareth remarked, charm dripping from  
his every word and movement.  
  
More laughter followed that, as did bits of talk as the ladies walked towards the  
stairs. Jareth merely smiled and then turned the opposite way, towards the chambers of  
his brother. The reliable boy, four years his minor and already approaching the age of  
seventeen, would do anything he asked, or so Jareth believed.   
  
He paused at his brother's door, and poised his fist to strike the rich mahogany  
wood. Sounds from within drew away any thoughts of a courteous entrance, and Jareth  
instantly cast the door open. The young boy, whom had been standing near the balcony,  
instantly leapt about, face flushed, hair wild, and the corners of his clothing were  
noticeably worse for the wear.  
  
The prince's dark, nearly ebony hair, laid in matted tangles upon his shoulders. In  
contrast to that rich dark mane, his eyes burned in a crystalline faded blue shade, nearly  
white in their pallor. His skin was alabaster, once more driving the outstanding nature of  
his black locks to be the first feature one would notice. He was not as tall as Jareth, nor  
as handsome, suave, graceful, nearly in every way the young prince did not quite match his  
older sibling.  
  
Jareth's mismatched eyes flashed in the morning sun as he approached his younger  
brother. A look of menace graced his features, if only for a moment, before he placed the  
mask of caring upon his face.   
  
"Nicholas, what is this disturbance in which you have.... undertaken?" Jareth  
paused in his inquiry as the lovely, pale face of some young woman, drifted into view from  
behind the flowing curtains. Their thick, silken material dutifully hindered the view of the  
balcony.  
  
Nicholas instantly stepped to block the mystery lady from his elder brother, his  
face set in a firm seriousness. Jareth cocked his head slightly at the odd goings on, and  
then leant against the bedpost, crossing his arms over the pristine, white jacket. His  
intense eyes captured his brother's, and held the younger prince's own determined gaze.  
  
"She is of no concern to you, Jareth. Leave us be," Nicholas remarked with a  
short air of stubbornness.  
  
Jareth's eyebrow's raised in a questioning manner, and Nicholas stepped back,  
visibly weakened by his brother's altered demeanor. Without a single moment of  
hesitation, Jareth rushed forwards, sweeping past his brother and out to the balcony. He  
cast aside the heavy curtains, and then beheld the remarkable woman, who jumped only  
slightly from the genuine startle Jareth had invoked.  
  
He swallowed, gaze taking in the fair woman's appearance in a sweeping glance.   
She was slender, delicate, pale, with blonde -nearly silver- mane of hair that swept over  
her shoulders and down to her waist. She wore a dress of the purest pastel pink, that  
graced her youthful countenance to an extent that Jareth soon found himself beyond  
words. Nicholas had found a woman who could actually compare to Jareth in her lovely  
appearance.  
  
"I am, quite sorry, milady," Jareth nearly purred as he knelt before her, taking her  
shivering hand in his own and placing his soft lips to her pure flesh.  
  
She withdrew it before he could rise, and turned his overwhelming eyes upwards  
to her own. She had placed the hand over the swell of her breast, face more red than was  
natural and a smile beginning to touch the rims of her full lips. Jareth rose to his feet, and  
glanced back at his brother, whom had ground his teeth and set his jaw in anger.  
  
"I have matters to discuss with my brother. Pardon me for this intrusion, my  
dear," Jareth stated in a low seductive tone, which swept across the room like velvet  
kisses.  
  
Jareth watched as the walked silently from the room, head downturned and gaze  
fixed firmly on the stone floor. She was quite a catch, and Jareth looked slyly at his  
brother when the door at last shut closed. Nicholas was, obviously, quite disturbed by  
that point and frowned at his older brother.  
  
"Coming to steal another, Jareth?" Nicholas demanded, his eyes narrowed in  
anger.  
  
Jareth flipped his hand through the air, dismissing such questions as irrelevant. He  
had nothing of the sort in mind. After all, there was fair Emelia awaiting his return in the  
mortal realm. The mere thought of her lovely face, perfect figure, tender lips, drove  
shivers along Jareth's flesh.  
  
"Quite the opposite, dear brother. I wish to bestow upon you, the right to the  
throne, as next heir. I am leaving this afternoon, and shall not return for quite some years.   
You and this new lady, can have the kingdom, if you swear to never tell father of where I  
go, or what I have done," Jareth paused, his words growing in intensity as he spoke, "Do  
you swear it?"  
  
Nicholas nodded vehemently, his mind far too much in shock to actually realize  
what he had accepted. However, Jareth appeared pleased, as he clapped his young  
brother on the back. Nicholas relented under the force and stumbled forward a bit.   
  
"But where, Jareth? Surely you're not about to dwell with that mortal woman!"  
Nicholas spat the words out.  
  
At that Jareth drew his hand back, and Nicholas recoiled, his hands out to defend  
against his brother's blow. Still, there was no harsh impact of a fist against his face, and  
gradually the prince glanced towards his brother. Jareth appeared changed, as he allowed  
his hand to drop to his side. He sighed deeply and then urged for his brother to come  
forward, and not fear a violent outburst.  
  
Nicholas did as he was gestured, nervous that it was all a well-orchestrated trick,  
but obedient nonetheless. Jareth did not strike his brother, but grasped Nicholas'  
shoulders firmly in a vice-like grip. The younger prince cringed and then looked into  
Jareth's volatile eyes.  
  
"You have never heard this, and shall tell no one that I have gone there. I swear  
by the blood of ancient kings, that you will forever remember the day if you betray me!"  
Jareth shook Nicholas as he made his demands.  
  
"Your secret will die with me," Nicholas promised, once again wincing as a mild  
pain flared up his aching arms.  
  
Jareth allowed his grip to loosen and he patted his brother on the back, delighted  
that everything had come about so easily. He then turned about, pausing a brief moment  
at the door, perhaps contemplating what to say to his sibling, when this could very well be  
the last time they would speak for many years.   
  
Jareth turned, flashing a pleasant smile towards Nicholas and then offered his  
brother a slight bow of respect. Nicholas appeared only shocked, and perhaps curious as  
to why his brother should genuflect before him.  
  
"I wish you only luck and happiness, Nicholas, as the future king," Jareth said, his  
voice coated in a sugary sarcasm, which did not pass unnoticed by his brother. Nicholas  
flinched noticeably and then allowed a slight frown to form upon his features as Jareth left  
the room.  
  
The remaining prince clenched his jaw, angered with his brother's actions,  
infuriated at the way Jareth had spoken to his guest, and Nicholas had been unable to utter  
a word of protest that his brother would listen to. It had been that way since Nicholas  
could recall, and would remain so until Jareth took his early leave, to dwell with the  
mortal wench amongst other lowly creatures.   
  
"Shall die with me, Jareth, or with you," Nicholas remarked, and a brief smile lit  
his serious face.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
In the distance the sun laid low on the horizon, signaling the approach of dusk and  
the time to make his grand exit from the Underground. Jareth walked silently,  
determination in every stride as he approached his chambers. There would be no turning  
back, not after all the plans that had been made, those that could not be reversed.  
  
"Son," came the hard, stentorian voice from the fae king, the high lord himself.  
  
Jareth's blood ran cold at the sound of the single word echoing along the empty  
passages. It seemed that even his heart, drumming away relentlessly within his chest,  
could be heard as powerfully as his father's voice. He paused momentarily, seriously  
debating the option of running at that moment, but rather chose to face the circumstance  
that led his father to him.  
  
"Yes, father?" Jareth questioned, as he turned to view his father's wizened face.  
  
The king's stern appearance was doubled by the anger that had risen across his  
cold, icy eyes. They were the shade of crystalline blue that Nicholas had received. The  
same shade that had graced Jareth's right eye, but had not touched the copper fire in the  
other. Jareth held his ground and waited, in silence, for his father to speak.  
  
"Where are you off to? Dinner waits," the old king explained with a hint of  
pleasantries in his voice. Still, the casual tone did not touch the look of death in his eyes.  
  
"Very well," Jareth responded, knowing that his fate was soon to be decided and  
dinner was not the reason for his father's appearance.  
  
He merely followed the king, down the dimly lit passageway, which no longer held  
the warmth of the dusk sun. Outside the sky was painted with hues of purples, reds and  
glorious arrays of pinks. It seemed as if the heavens themselves had caught fire, and now  
raged in those intense shades. The awe-striking view appeared rhythmical from the open  
windows, and then disappeared as the gray-stoned walls broke rudely into his field of  
vision.  
  
Jareth nearly succeeded in colliding with his father, as he turned his downcast eyes  
towards the king. He realized, halting a scant inch from the high King's back, that they  
had stopped outside the broad wooden doors, leading into the throne room, not the dining  
hall. Jareth had assumed as much when first relenting to his father's wishes.  
  
"Come, son," the king stated as he watched the large doors swing open with the  
help of the royal guards on the other side.  
  
Jareth said nothing, but followed behind, prepared to face the brunt of his  
punishment. All the while his mind spun, wondering where he had gone wrong, where he  
had slipped in his well devised plan. It had all appeared as slick as clockwork, without a  
single hitch to hinder his progressions to meet lovely Emily that night, to which he would  
never show.  
  
Then the entire crowd of royal advisors, and members of the court came into view.   
Grim, silent expressions were evident on every pale face. Woman glanced away, unable to  
look into the eyes of the fallen prince. Jareth found himself searching for his own mother,  
whose presence could not be found amidst the others.   
  
"You know why you are here," his father stated as he left Jareth's side to sit upon  
his grand, golden throne.  
  
"Yes," Jareth stated simply, holding his head high as he was made subject to the  
countless accusing eyes.  
  
Then, as if a snake slithering forth from beneath a shadowed crevice of a rock,  
Nicholas appeared. His dark hair was pulled back into a white, silken ribbon, and his  
powder-blue eyes were as cold as ice when he looked at his older brother.   
  
Jareth's mind nearly exploded as revaluation collided with horror. His brother, a  
bond of blood, had been the one to wrong him. Nicholas had told their father, had done  
so merely to spite Jareth. Now the throne would be the younger prince's still, and Jareth  
would be imprisoned, for life perhaps. A sentence terrifying to an immortal.  
  
"Grave charges have been placed upon your head, Jareth. I would not believe until  
speaking to your chamber maid, whom complied with all that had been presented to me.   
Tell me truthfully, or lest your sentence be that much worse. Have you stolen away to the  
mortal realm, engaging with a mortal woman, and this very night planned to leave to be  
with her?!" the old King roared the accusal, and Jareth faltered noticeably. All the while  
Nicholas glared, a smirk resting upon his thin lips.  
  
Jareth turned to look into the crowd of spectators, who waited with baited breath  
to hear if the horrifying charge was truthful. Young ladies blushed furiously as they  
recalled the way Jareth had kissed their hands, that they had been attracted to such a  
horrid criminal. The elder men bore the same expression as the king, and shook their  
heads seriously as Jareth's gaze fell on them.  
  
After long last he turned to face the king and nodded, keeping his face emotionless  
in the process. A mask of indifference rested on his features, blocking out the pain that  
surged through his soul at not being allowed to venture to Emelia that night. His father  
would never be given the satisfaction of knowing how much it had hurt.  
  
"Very well," his father muttered and then nodded towards the guards.  
  
They rushed forwards, grabbing Jareth's arms in a vice-like grip. It was only then  
that the prince realized what would occur, and that there would be no way to meet his  
love, nor to live forever by her side. At that thought he exploded, thrashing about in the  
guards' grips, and flailing like a madman to be free. He needed only enough time to fly  
away, seek refuge in the mortal realm, and then....  
  
Before his plan could even begin to take effect, a blunt object was hit upon his  
head. Jareth's sight doubled, and pin-points of light broke out in wavering areas. Then  
the entire crowd in the throne room began to fade, into blackness. He soon slumped over  
and was dragged from the watchful eyes of those in attendance.  
  
  



	24. King of the Goblins...part 3

Chapter Twenty, part 3: King of the Goblins  
  
The sensation of a dull searing pain, in the foremost region of his head was the first  
thing Jareth experienced when the world began to return. Secondly he felt the cool metal  
cuffs, restraining both his wrists and ankles against the damp brick wall of the castle  
dungeon.   
  
He opened his eyes, slowly growing accustomed to the darkness that surrounded  
him. Time was completely lost, and he couldn't even begin to guess at how long he had  
remained chained to the wall, in the dark. Already he was certain that the time to meet  
Emelia had come and gone, without his presence being made known. She would be  
utterly heartbroken, and their relationship shattered beyond repair.  
  
"Father," Jareth called, his exotic, velveteen voice reduced to a series of struggled  
rasps.  
  
Still, there was no doubt in the denounced Prince's mind that the grand King  
would hear. His father had succeeded on the throne through his watchful character and  
careful observation of everything going on in his kingdom.  
  
A brief explosion of cold blue light exploded before Jareth's physically drained  
body. He squinted, having finally found himself used to the darkness, and turned his eyes  
to the ground. A series of short-echoed footsteps upon the moss-covered ground,  
approached the prisoner, and Jareth turned his emotionless gaze upwards.  
  
"Awake, my son?" the king asked, his silver hair riding a stray breeze, as if a  
molten liquid.  
  
Jareth allowed the slightest grin to grace his paled lips. His face, however,  
remained in the mask that had been set prior to his imprisonment. Everything was already  
lost, to make a fool of himself at that point, would be only playing into his father's hands.   
Jareth chose to stay above these games, and casually gestured towards the shackles.  
  
"Is this really necessary?" he implored, cracking the heavy metal against the wall  
several times, to emphasize the overused restraint.  
  
The king walked nearer, staring his son with those eyes that seemed nearly as pale  
as the sclera itself. Jareth returned the stony stare, and refused to avert his glare for  
anything. If his father wished this to be a contest, then so be it. There was nothing left to  
lose, save his innermost pride and dignity, which was wavering in and out as he remained  
bonded to the wall.  
  
"I suppose that time has passed enough. I will not let you lose before I bestow  
your true punishment, Jareth. You are to be King," he stated, quite flatly as well.  
  
The old king turned and coughed, and for the first time Jareth noticed just how  
haggard he appeared. His skin hung just a bit about his face, and had turned to a more  
ashen shade of gray. Those eyes, which burned with icy intensity, now were almost  
drained, and lacked the conviction of the once vehement king. Even his stature, which had  
been so noble for so long, was slightly drooped, depleted.  
  
Jareth remained silent, and did not offer his father the chance of raising hopes.   
There was always a catch, and this was a punishment, not a speech from king to heir.   
Nicholas was to rule the kingdom, perhaps with the lovely young gem by his side, that had  
been in the chambers earlier in the day.  
  
"I bow to you, Jareth, Keeper of the Labyrinth, and King of the Goblins," the king  
bit out viciously and then erupted into bales of powerful laughter, which racked his entire  
ailing body.  
  
Jareth's being leapt in anger, his body raged with fury, and the magic which  
coursed through his veins became electric in a moment. Blue sparks of shocking power  
covered his palms, cascading around the metal cuffs in bracelets of pure energy. He  
clenched his jaw, watching the man whom he had called "Father" laughing at Jareth's  
expense.  
  
In a burst of magical power the shanks were destroyed, and Jareth stood free.   
Instantly any and all laughter subsided, and silence reigned supreme in the dank dungeon.   
Jareth strode defiantly from his prison, and towards his father, a look of determination set  
upon his features.  
  
Death could have easily occurred at that moment, when Jareth found himself in  
control. He nearly reached out with those powerful magical incantations, to grip the life  
from his father's dying soul, but stopped. The king withered noticeably, shrinking away as  
if a weasel retreating to a hole. Jareth stopped, and watched his father back away, bowing  
in mock respect to his son.  
  
"You sicken me, as does this entire falsified kingdom. There is nothing here I wish  
to take, and would rather make my home ruling cretins that roll in the mud and have not a  
brain between the mass of them, than remain here a moment longer," Jareth declared, his  
voice powerful, and reverberating throughout the enclosed prison.  
  
"Son, you would never harm your father?!" the old king demanded, shrinking  
farther away, and towards the rickety stairs which led to freedom.  
  
Jareth shook his head, his golden locks flowing in a halo about his head. He  
stopped advancing towards the old king and crossed his arms over his chest. Now was  
not the time to demand apologies, but rather he would search it out from his brother at a  
later date. Now was the time to retreat, lick wounds that would never truly heal, and find  
a way to return to Emelia.  
  
In a shock of brilliant white light, Jareth left the dungeon, and the kingdom for his  
own. His father watched, half in awe and half in utter horror. For his son had powers  
beyond anyone's comprehension. Never would the fae kingdom lose track of the  
infamous Goblin King, never...  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"I wish the Goblins would come and take me away, right now...."  
  
That voice, so horridly familiar, and so riddled with deathly overtones, had drifted  
to his every watchful presence. It could have been mistaken for another witless reader of  
his story... one who wanted their child or sibling taken from their sight, but it was not of  
that sort. It was, instead, spoken by someone who wanted their problems replaced with  
fantasy dreams, those that he could no longer offer.  
  
He had seen the familiar landscape passing beneath his traveling form. Had  
witnessed their private place, in which they met for a rendezvous of forbidden sorts. To  
taste the fruit of passion, or so he could put it. The woods followed, and he could easily  
spot the ancient ruins, where they had planned their future, and the lonely decrepit bridge,  
where she had been, but he had never arrived.  
  
"Emelia," even her name held such bittersweet memories that it pained him to even  
think it.  
  
He had tossed any part of her from his mind. She was not meant to be with him,  
and so deserved to go on with her life, at least having a chance at a normal existence.   
Obviously that too was not meant to be.  
  
Jareth swooped downwards, circling overhead the dismal, dark mansion, which  
had once appeared so bright, merely from her presence dwelling within. All was black  
inside, save a single orange glow, emanating from which also appeared to be his final  
destination. Heavy curls of thick smoke seeped from the open window.... and Jareth's  
heart leapt into his throat.  
  
"No," he thought, diving downwards and then nearly being overcome by the  
agitating smoke.  
  
He swept backwards, as flames licked from the window, traveling along the lovely  
white-laced curtains. Inside he could hear sobs, and moans of such utter pain that he  
could never begin to describe it. Jareth circled, unable to do a thing, as his mind traveled  
over a thousand different possibilities.  
  
Then, not able to take the horror any longer, a spell burst from his wings, covering  
the flames in magic. The smoke died instantly, leaving nothing but burned furniture, walls,  
and cloth to show the fact that a fire had been raging only moments earlier. With the  
danger cleared he flew inside the open window, instantly taking his human shape.  
  
Shattered glass laid scattered upon the floor, crackling beneath the heals of his tall,  
black boots. Jareth quickly took in the scene of destruction, mismatched eyes tracing the  
path the fire had taken from the overturned lamp, and onwards to consume the majority of  
the room.  
  
That was when he saw the shape, writhing only slightly in pain that could never be  
explained in proper proportions. A sad, weak gurgling noise came from the burned throat  
of the poor victim, sending Jareth a wave of guilt and pity for this mortal who had suffered  
in the flames. Alas, his power could not bring the mortal back to health. It was there that  
he was limited.  
  
He strode towards the figure, but paused. The shock of chestnut hair, partially  
burned, told him clearly whom laid upon the ground, draped partially with a charred white  
sheet. She convulsed suddenly, and that face, half blackened, turned towards him. Only a  
single chocolate eye remained open, and it rolled about the socket as death throws began  
to take over her youthful body.  
  
"Emily," Jareth whispered, a strange overwhelming lump forming in his throat as  
he spoke her name once more.  
  
She seemed almost to realize whom was there, and she stopped moving about in  
agony. Her moribund state did not cease, however, and Jareth knew all too well that  
death was near at hand. She had not a minute left in this world, and he knew, somehow,  
that this was all his fault. Jareth dropped to his knees by her side and cringed at the  
amount of burns ranging over her entire body.  
  
She swallowed, perhaps trying to talk. Emelia managed only a shivering smile and  
then dropped a leather bond book from her claw-like hand. Jareth looked towards it,  
shock overcoming his grief as he realized just what it was. "Labyrinth" the cover read,  
despite the smears of black soot from her hands, he knew very well that this was the novel  
he had given her upon their first meeting.  
  
She had read it, and had called upon the Goblin King in the story, to take her from  
her life. Yet, she had not known that he was the Goblin King, for when he had given her  
the book, Jareth had yet to be granted the most unsuitable title. Still, he had not come in  
time, for Emelia had set the fire, trying to rid herself of the pain Jareth, himself, had  
caused. Now there was no way to right the wrongs, for she would die at this young age, a  
broken heart as her only company in the afterlife.  
  
"I.... k-new you w-ere him," she whispered, her voice cracked, raspy, nothing like  
the musical thing it had once been.  
  
She gasped for air, hand clutching out into nothingness, and at last circling about  
Jareth jacket. With this final movement he could take it no longer. He simply could not  
allow her death, and so produced a crystal from the thin air and spun it about in his hands,  
as Emelia watched with a blurred eye.  
  
"Your soul shall live, Emelia, forever on this earth," Jareth stated and then placed  
the magical orb on her dying body.  
  
He backed away, loosening her grip on his jacket in the process. Emelia watched,  
horror, or some form of emotion near that, overtook her features in those last moments  
when she remained with her dying body. Then the sphere burst, and the incantation  
dropped over her, like a soothing blanket. Her body died in that moment, but her essence,  
her true being was not to leave.  
  
The lovely whiteness that seeped from her body was the true inner soul of his love.   
Jareth's eyes widened, as that perfection slipped out the window, and towards the grounds  
of the grand mansion. It swirled about, taking a shape that Jareth had decided would suit  
his love for all time. A form that would bring forth her true beauty, and make life bearable  
enough.  
  
Her legs grow long, ending in hooves, and her arms formed into forelegs. A  
slender, sleek body became present next, leading on to a long arched neck, with a wild  
fury of silver hair that rode the wind as some luxuriant liquid. Her large head was noble  
and majestic, with great chestnut eyes that held the same love and innocence as they had  
when Jareth first saw Emelia.  
  
She pawed the ground, flicking an equally luxurious tale through the air as she  
realized what had become of her. That finely detailed head looked upwards, and into the  
window where she had been dying moments earlier. Jareth looked down towards her, his  
appearance striking chords of sadness in her soul.  
  
He had changed her from a human into a horse, a silver spirit horse, which existed,  
but also did not exist at the same time. She was real, and then was not. Emelia tore her  
gaze from her once lover and raced into the forest. The only human sound that she could  
still make were her eternal sobs. They followed her into the woods, where they never  
ceased....  
  
Emelia, in the form of that lovely silver steed, cried for the life she had lost, and  
the life she was forced to lead.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
A harsh knock upon the door drove Jareth from his melancholy reveries. He  
prepared himself and then turned to face the doorway. There was no need to show poor  
form, especially when his guest could be of some importance. The letters generally  
prelude the visitation of some formal dignitary from the royal courts.  
  
"Enter," Jareth allowed, his stature straight and tall, even proud, though there was  
little to be proud about.  
  
The door swung open to the grand appearance of the high king himself, whom  
Jareth had nearly expected. There was no shock upon the Goblin King's continence, but  
rather a smirk towards the dark-haired weakling whom walked into the chambers with a  
sort of apprehension. A rat in disguise as a King.  
  
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Nicholas?" Jareth questioned as he turned and  
walked further within his room.  
  
"You are not a fool, brother, and so I myself cannot understand why you have  
placed yourself in this situation once more," Nicholas replied.  
  
Jareth was silent for some time as he contemplated a suitable response for what his  
brother has said. True, he knew about the consequences his current actions could create.   
He was equally aware that, should he cast aside Sarah to dwell forever in the mortal  
world, she would face the same fate as his lovely Emelia. That would not happen, if he  
would be forced to face the executioner, he would do anything to prevent another instance  
as had occurred nearly two hundred years earlier.  
  
"It is all done, Nicholas...," Jareth paused as he produced a crystal which now  
showed Sarah in startling reality, and presented it to his brother's questioning gaze, "To  
right a wrong I never believed I could remedy. Now, I shall set things right, and save her  
as well."  
  
  



	25. Meeting at Night

Chapter Twenty-One: Meeting at Night  
  
Sarah walked down the dimly lit passage, a grogginess looming over her spirits.   
She had worked straight through the day, following that sudden, surprise presentation  
yesterday, of a song which had yet to be written. Peter had been ready to take her into his  
arms, when she was found after her abrupt sprint from the theatre.  
  
She was the savior for Peter's play, but felt that she had also been the one to nearly  
destroy it. After all, was it not her foolish, emotionally wrought wish that had caused the  
Goblin King to snatch away Gabrielle, along with the other actresses? Sarah would have  
gladly sacrificed her leading roll to have the others returned safely, for she had never  
meant any harm to come to them.  
  
She slowly opened her door, peering into the darkened room. Jareth had not come  
the previous night, nor the entire expanse of the day. Sarah had allowed herself to believe  
that he had gotten what he wanted, and would now leave her be with her destroyed life.   
Perhaps there would be some way to pick up the pieces and start once more, having a  
third chance at normalcy. Somehow it did not appear likely.  
  
Jareth would forever rule her life, as long as she let him. He had the control, as  
much as she wished that it was not so. He held her in his palm, almost like a simple  
puppet and she danced to his every whim. He wanted her to allow her dark dreams to  
come into reality, and did so by heeding her wish and taking the others away. His alluring  
presence invaded her dreams, and her life, causing desire to mount and toy with her  
feelings.  
  
Sarah flipped her light switch and watched as the comfortable room was bathed in  
soothing pale illumination. Outside the filtering light of the moon was obscured. Sarah  
entered, closing the large, heavy wooden door behind herself in the process, and literally  
fell upon the downy bed. The scent of her own shampoo drifted from the pillow, as did  
that of a more mysterious and magical aura.   
  
She instantly rose, glancing around the now horridly confining chambers. Her  
breath came in harsh gasps, as her chest rose and fell in a hitching rhythm. She took in her  
surroundings with a single sweeping glance and then leant back against the bed once more.   
There had been nothing save, once more, her overactive imagination.   
  
Her elbow struck the pillow, and instantly the firm object beneath stopped the  
softness. She was startled, until recalling just what was hidden in such a noticeable place.   
Sarah snaked her slender hand beneath the pillow and drew out the lovely diary, holding it  
close for a few moments before she, at last, opened it to where she had left off. There was  
still so very much to learn.  
  
Sarah scanned the pages, flipping another, and realizing that she had yet to even  
reach the middle of the grand book. She rubbed her eyes, urging the sleep away and then  
continued in her search for answers in the historical diary.  
  
"I went to find him the following night, as we had planned in the forest's glen, near the ancient ruins.   
I was not seen, as Jareth had promised, and was able to sneak out unnoticed as well. The only hitch in our  
plans came in the form of dark storm clouds which hung threatening overhead, and rumbled angrily with the  
oncoming rage of nature. Still, all the anger in the storm could not amount to the sadness I was to face, upon  
having my heart broken..."  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Emelia drew her cloak tight about her shoulders, the fur-lined hood shadowing her  
frightened and pale face from the world. Inside she was shivering, her mind racing out of  
control with a thousand or more worries and thoughts. This was her life, her future, and it  
depended entirely upon her ability to sneak past her parents, whom had yet to take their  
repose in their chambers.  
  
Her heart skipped as Mr. Fontridge rose from the grand mahogany chair, which  
was positioned before the large fireplace. A grand inferno blazed on within the stony  
confines and cast illuminations that resembled Hell itself. Orange shimmering glows licked  
across the walls and Emelia's father was also touched by the light, as well as frightening  
shades.  
  
She silenced her breath, and slunk into the shadows offered by another twist of the  
passageway. Her father walked past, stopping only briefly to glance about, as if he had  
heard something but was not quite ready to search out the cause of the noise. He sighed  
deeply after scanning what little could be seen in the dim light offered by the luminess of  
torches, and continued on down the hallway and perhaps towards his room to, at last,  
sleep.  
  
As the sound of his footsteps faded, and his shape did the same, Emelia allowed  
herself a shaking breath of relief. She had not been caught, and now had her chance for  
freedom far from the constricting confines of the horrid mansion. She gathered up her  
skirts and rushed from the safety of the dark, into the grand sitting room, where she  
paused before the massive fire.  
  
Within the glowing bodies of the flames she saw a dancing figure, or what  
appeared to be so. Emelia's eyes widened, the fire reflecting in those chestnut orbs as she  
watched in awe. Then, as if nothing had ever been there, the apparition faded to oblivion,  
leaving only the remained licks of flame that still ate the wood hungrily.  
  
"Please forgive me," Emelia whispered, looking towards the ceiling and past it,  
towards the heavens above.  
  
She ran to the door, looked over her shoulder only once to be sure that no one had  
seen her this far. When she escaped the mansion she would be free, and on her way to the  
safety of Jareth's warm embrace. Emelia tugged the heavy door open, just enough to slip  
through and then pulled it a bit, in a half-hearted attempt to close.   
  
Yet, she could not wait, for her heart soared with the feeling of the night air, the  
scent of the first raindrops, and the promise of a new future. She raced into the night,  
skipping over stones and never once glanced back towards the door which stood open,  
casting a fine line of orange highlights across the dark entryway to Fontridge Manor.  
  
She raced into the woods, her face upturned towards the skies as the rain  
splattered upon her clothing. She tasted the lovely water from heaven, as if it cleansed her  
as she ran to her future.   
  
The calm atmosphere was not to last, for in a brief second the light shower broke,  
and a torrent of rain pummeled the land, nearly driving Emelia to her knees. She grasped  
a nearby tree, leaning against its strength for support against the onslaught of nature.   
  
Emelia looked forward, towards the faint outline of the creek, which she could  
only scarcely see from such a distance. Still, that was where she was to find her love and  
she could not allow the weather to prevent their meeting. She broke from the tree, and  
lunged forwards, gripping the simple cloak, which had already become heavy with the rain  
and trailed with mud, around herself as she continued towards her destiny.  
  
The wind caught her hood, tearing it from her face, and leaving her all but helpless  
against the weather. She staggered backwards, caught in the gale that attacked without  
mercy. Emelia struggled forward, tearing at tree branches to aid her in her journey.   
Overhead lightning traced an eerie white path along the rolling underbellies of the horrid  
stormclouds, and thunder exploded from directly overhead.  
  
"I cannot go on," Emelia screamed through the violent night and fell against the  
tree by which she had stopped.  
  
Her clothing tore as it caught up in a low, thorny bush. Emelia ripped it more,  
trying to free herself. Her lovely pale peach dress was tattered in ribbons, to which she  
paid little attention. The creek was near at hand, and she could not force herself to rise to  
approach it.   
  
Then she glanced back, towards the single light that still shone from within her  
former home. She could not return, for her parents would never accept her, nor the secret  
she held from all. The secret which she still had yet to tell Jareth, but planned on  
informing him as they met that night. Now, it seemed that she would not reach her  
destination, but rather die in the spot she had fallen.  
  
"I must, I cannot go home, not now," Emelia's frantic mind repeated, urging her to  
try once more, and rise to her feet.  
  
She did as she was told, though her legs shook uncontrollably when at last she  
found herself standing. Walking along the tree line broke the sheer power of the wind,  
and she was able to prevent falling by grabbing hold of their comforting limbs. She slowly  
made progress forwards, and to the creek, which now raged with intense fury of flooded  
waters...  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Within Fontridge both father and mother awakened with a start. They sat up  
straight in their massive bed and looked towards each other. The spell which had covered  
them had dropped, and now were aware of something wrong. The rain beat against the  
windows, as wind whistled throughout the manor. Lightning crackled across the sky,  
lighting their faces with white illumination, and thunder following shortly later, rattling the  
glass.  
  
Fontridge leapt from his bed, throwing his large overcoat around himself, to  
prevent the chill air from attacking his body. He raced to the door, and cast it open,  
looking back towards his wife for a moment.  
  
"What is wrong?" Mrs. Fontridge asked, her eyes wide in fear at her husband's  
actions.  
  
He shook his head, and raced out into the hallway, pausing only briefly at Emelia's  
door, which was closed. He continued on, before stopping completely to look back at his  
daughter's room. His heart almost screamed, telling him that here was the cause for his  
feeling of something wrong. He rushed back, catching the silhouette of his wife down the  
hall as she walked from their chambers, her hand to her mouth in shock.  
  
He threw open the door and looked inside. All was dark, and silent, as it should be  
at that hour. Still, something was not right. Outside lightning flashed once more, and cast  
the room in pale white highlights. The bed was outlined brilliantly, and showed the fact  
that there was no girl sleeping beneath the warm blankets. Emelia was gone.  
  
Fontridge slammed the door, and ran down the halls, calling for his daughter the  
entire way. He had thought that she was different, but was unable to find the reason.   
Now, it was too late, and she was gone.   
  
He rushed into the sitting room, where he had been that night, and recalled hearing  
something that he had dismissed as unimportant. The fire was dead, only glowing embers  
remained scattered. Yet, a chill of frozen air caught his attention, and he looked towards  
the large door, which stood open.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"Jareth!" Emelia cried, falling to the ground momentarily, catching herself upon a  
large gray rock.   
  
She looked downwards, towards the creek which surged angrily along its path.   
Her mind instantly brought horrid images of Jareth plummeting to his death in the  
churning waters, before she had been able to reach this place. Already she knew that it  
was late, far past the time they had planned to meet. Something had happened.  
  
She struggled onwards, to the bridge. It was only then that she would allow  
herself rest. She grabbed hold of the ancient railing, nearly losing her own balance at that  
instant. Emelia steadied herself and walked to the very center of the old bridge, which  
creaked against the onslaught of the storm.  
  
Then, all strength at last gone out of her body, she fell to the ground and waited.   
The rain continued to pound down upon her, and soon she felt that she would lose all  
consciousness. Jareth had forgotten, he had not come, he had left her to die in the fury of  
the weather she now faced... alone.  
  
She only scarcely heard the heavy footsteps as they approached, and turned her  
head to gaze in the direction of the unknown person who had seen her. Her chocolate,  
misted eyes took in the heavy boots, and knew at once that it was not Jareth who had  
came then.   
  
Hands lifted her upwards and soon she found herself cradled in strong arms. She  
rested her head against the body, which felt so warm, and nearly dry compared to her own  
fatigued self. As she was carried away, Emelia felt her tears begin, those sobs which did  
not ever stop, for her heart had been broken cleanly in two.  
  
The love she had believed to exist between herself and Jareth was not true. He had  
only used her, had taken her, had cast her away, and now moved on to another naive child.   
She realized all this as the strong person carried her to safety, far from the rain and the  
wind and chilled temperature which forced shivers to cascade uncontrollably along her  
entire body.  
  
Then, Emelia felt herself drawn into blackness, which she welcomed. Her body  
went limp in the other's arms as they continued towards shelter in the black of night.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"It was my father who took me home, and placed me, warm, into my bed. It was he whom cradled my  
body in the storm, and he whom beat me when I was awake. Then he left, and locked me away in my room, far  
from the eyes of society. For it was he too, who first guessed at my secret, and I the one who told him it to be  
the truth. My problem, something that was incurable, and something that I would face for nearly a year. The  
man whom I had loved, and had left me to die in the night, had left me also with another life in my body, a  
child..."  
  
Sarah snapped the book closed, her heart beating madly as the final words in that  
entry played again and again in her mind. "A child", which meant that Jareth had a son or  
daughter. She shivered, hating the Goblin King with every ounce of her being. He had  
left Emelia, and had ruined her all at once.   
  
Surely in that day and age a young girl, only sixteen years in age, would be  
shunned for conceiving before wedlock. Sarah shivered at the gloomy prospects that laid  
in Emelia's future. The poor woman had cried constantly, as she was locked away in her  
room, for the tears showed even upon the ancient pages in form of ink blurs.  
  
It was then that Sarah's body froze in utter horror of revelation. The image on the  
picture, the spirit in the room, and the sobs which she had heard originally in her dreams,  
all flooded her mind. It connected, those pictures from her memories, and did so subtly  
enough so that Sarah had not even realized until that day.  
  
"What about the horse?" Sarah asked as she reopened the diary to flip through the  
old pages.  
  
There was no mention of any significant horse, such as the majestic silver steed  
that Sarah had followed. The lovely mare was beautiful beyond words, and surely would  
bare some mention had she been seen at least once by Emelia. Still, the equine remained a  
mystery, and all Sarah could do was speculate as to the importance of the fair, ghost,  
horse.  
  
She stopped flipping pages suddenly, having realized that there was no longer  
script upon the yellow paper. Rather, the book was blank from that point on. She turned  
the page back, and found an overflow of tears shown in the way the paper had wrinkled  
and words had blurred together, making everything nearly illegible.  
  
Still, some could be discerned, and Sarah went about reading it with a careful eye.   
Perhaps this last passage bore some answers to the questions that whirred constantly  
through Sarah's mind. She began, not prepared for what would lie within those seemingly  
innocent words.  
  
  



	26. Proclamation of Power

Chapter Twenty-Two: Proclamation of Power  
  
"Goblin King! Jareth! Face me!" Sarah demanded, her voice near the screaming  
level as she stomped about with anger in her wild eyes.  
  
She stopped her ranting, breath coming in deep gasps as she tried in desperation to  
calm herself in some way. Sarah waited silently, glancing about the room. Her gaze  
flicked from the dropped diary, which laid open, face down, upon the floor, pages askew  
and crinkled; towards the open window, which allowed a faint breeze to enter into her  
room from the cool night outside.  
  
A trace of lightning in the far off distance was followed briefly by the slightest  
rumble of thunder. A storm, not comparable to the one Sarah had experienced several  
nights earlier, was on the way. She stalked towards the window, and, pausing to just gaze  
into the night, drew the glass doors shut firmly. Instantly the curtains liveliness died and  
ceased their whirling dance created by the wind.  
  
He had not come, had not listened to her angered calls for his presence. Sarah  
pressed her warm forehead against the smooth, cool surface of the unmarked glass. She  
had begged for him to be gone forever from her life, and now, when she at last called for  
the fickle Goblin King, he did not come.  
  
Sarah straightened herself and watched another spark of lightning tracing a path to  
the ground, far off, too far to matter. She turned her eyes away from the scene outside,  
and allowed the heavy curtains to fall over the glass, blocking whatever view she had left.   
Then she turned...  
  
...and was at once met with the cool, calculating gaze of mismatched eyes, burning  
into her, as cold as ice. Sarah gasped, stepping back without a thought of the anger which  
had once burned in her only a moment earlier. His elegantly arched eyebrows rose, in  
question perhaps, and a smile, feral in nature, graced his thin lips.  
  
"Jareth," she whispered, now approaching him as her power returned after the  
shock.  
  
He bowed, grandly, mockingly, and then turned those hypnotizing eyes upwards,  
from his genuflecting stance. Sarah swallowed, unable to deny the fact that his gaze still  
affected her, no matter what horrid secrets laid buried in his past.  
  
The thought of his past, and the diary, and what she had read, broke the spell he  
had suddenly placed over her. Sarah rushed towards him, as he rose to full imposing  
height, and glared upwards. He nearly reached out to caress her cheek, but she forced his  
hand away, fury raging throughout her.  
  
"How could you? She loved you!" Sarah stated, her voice venomous in its serious  
tones.  
  
Jareth cocked his head, confusion perhaps lacing those actions and movements.   
He had not expected these accusations. What was the reason, after all, for Sarah to blame  
him for another? Then he saw it, the diary, resting upon the ground as if it belonged in  
this time. She had read what Emelia had written, and had decided to judge him solely by  
what was etched forever on those old pages bound by the velvet covers.  
  
"Do not judge me so soon, if you will not hear the continuation of the story,  
Sarah," Jareth warned, his original cocky manner gone entirely as he recalled what had  
already been through his memory earlier that day.  
  
Sarah raced towards the diary and scooped it up, cradling it protectively against  
her chest. She glared towards Jareth, as the Goblin King leaned against the post of the  
bed, looking off into nothingness, and becoming suddenly quite melancholy in his body  
language.  
  
"You killed her," Sarah accused viciously, her words slicing straight through  
Jareth's protective layers.  
  
"I did not!!" he roared, turning on her and advancing with genuine malicious  
intent.   
  
He stood before her, the grand king he had always been. Her body shivered, and  
she stepped away, if only to create more space between them. She did not, however,  
avert her eyes once. She would not leave, not back down, not when she had at last found  
something that could be considered a weak spot in Jareth's being.  
  
She stabbed forwards, punctuating each step with more accusations, brought on  
from what had been read in the old diary.  
  
"You took her heart, Jareth, and crushed it! Soiled her image, promising a life  
with you that never occurred! Then, when at last you two were to meet, she faced the  
wilds of the weather, nearly dying, only to be saved by her father, and taken to be locked  
away, as some criminal would, with a secret. Insanity crept in, and she ended it all in this  
house, in her room, where she allowed fire to destroy her sadness!" Sarah stopped  
suddenly at the change she witnessed in the Goblin King.  
  
He bowed his head, golden locks spilling around his face. He would not look up,  
would not try to argue, at least not at that time. Her words had cut him to ribbons inside,  
had taken what was left of his power and dwindled it to scarcely nothing. When at last he  
managed to look at this gallant opponent and occasional love-interest, he was no longer  
the Jareth she had first seen in her room.  
  
Still, he did not fall easily. He shook his head, disagreeing with all she had  
claimed, and trying to rebut, but finding his mouth unable to discover words to use. Sarah  
herself was in shock, unable to believe that she had bested him. The first time, she could  
admit, was by luck, and this, this was not what she had anticipated in the least.  
  
"As I said, that book tells only half a tale, Sarah, one that you leap to accept so as  
to damage me in this low manner. I believed you above such actions," Jareth stated, his  
already pale skin nearing the shade of ash as he spoke.  
  
Sarah tried to interject, for she had not intended such pain inflicted upon Jareth.   
She had only wanted him gone from her life, so that she could live as others did. Now, as  
she watched the Fae king faltering under her brutal onslaught of words, a twinge of regret  
lit in her heart, and she begged to take it all away. For now, she even doubted what she  
had believed for so long, that she did not want this man in her life.   
  
"I loved Emily, despite what you believe. I would have taken her with me  
anywhere, as long as we were together. I did return, which is what that diary does not  
say, and took the flames from her mortal body. The body died, since I was too late. I  
wanted her to live a life without me, normally, as you so often put it, Sarah. The royalty  
in the Underground frown upon relationships between mortals and those of the Fae,"  
Jareth twirled about, his gray cloak brushing against Sarah in the process, and raising a  
scent of magic, fantasy, and all that surrounded Jareth.  
  
Her heart ached with the knowledge that suddenly fell upon her. Sarah bit her lips,  
trying in vain to fight back emotions which were quickly rising to the surface. It was no  
use to deny what she felt now, for, more than ever, she needed him. Sarah slid the diary  
beneath her bed, and, in one fluid movement, made her way to her feet and placed her  
hands gently upon Jareth's shoulders.  
  
He turned his head slightly, eyes momentarily averted from the window out of  
which he had chosen to look. She rested her head against his back, taking in the aura  
which resonated all about him. Sarah closed her chestnut eyes, and leaned against him,  
feeling his breaths, his heart, his very essence as she at last threw down her guard.  
  
Jareth turned, as she stepped away from his body. They stood there, gazing into  
each others eyes, which burned with thousands of unanswered questions, some of which  
would remain so forever. Then, before he could move, Sarah took the first step and  
pressed her finger firmly to his lips, so as to quiet the king.  
  
"I said once that 'you had no power over me', which was wrong. Your influence  
in my life has never faded, even when I believed myself cured. What you failed to  
mention, Jareth, is that I have power over you as well, more than you can imagine," she  
whispered and then stepped away from Jareth with a brief smile.  
  
She remained still, seriousness bridging over other feelings, as if this too was a  
duty required to be performed before she could advance. Still, a piece of her yearned for  
it to be more, for all of this to continue on and for a sort of fantasy fairytale to claim her  
life in its grips. Life was not that way, not filled with magic and gallant young knights  
who raced to take the damsel in distress to their far-off kingdom. No, in reality those  
knights came in the form of eccentric millionaires and cocky kings.  
  
She loosed her ponytail, tossing the white hair band to the ground, where it  
remained. Then, shaking her head as the chestnut locks, shimmering in the lamp light,  
spread out in glorious waves upon her shoulders and down her back, she caught Jareth's  
eyes. He was questioning the situation, obviously willing to partake in what she would  
soon offer, but still wondering what had caused this sudden change in her character.  
  
Sarah paid little heed to Jareth's doubts about what she intended, for she had  
discovered the strength within her soul, and so knew of the power she could now claim  
over the Goblin King. She grasped the bulky sweater, which had served to keep her warm  
during the long hours spent in the chilled theatre, and removed it from her body.  
  
Once more her mass of hair cascaded, this time resting on silken skin, and riding  
the subtle curve of her spine, as it moved downwards. She was flawless, and stood,  
offering herself to Jareth as the sweater met the same fate as her hair band had. Her  
breath came in short, shaking gasps, which showed with the rise and fall of her chest.   
Sarah waited, silent, wondering if he would ever step from the current spot he occupied.  
  
Jareth walked forward, his eyes racing over her partially bared figure, and touched  
her soft shoulder, running the silken palm of his hand down, until it rested on her waist.   
Sarah shivered, gazing into those magical eyes, so very different from any she had ever  
seen in her world. His other hand slid downwards as well, interlocking at her back, and  
urging her to move forwards, and against him.  
  
They met, their lips connecting them together, and filling the distance which  
remained, with a fury of passion. Jareth deepened the kiss, hunger abounding free, and his  
hands began working along her spine, raising shivers and gooseflesh across the entire  
expanse of her skin.   
  
Sarah tore at his silken poet's shirt. Grappling with countless pearl buttons, which  
she found entirely annoying to undo. Sarah, instead, gripped the fine fabric within her  
tightened fists and ripped the shimmering buttons from their holes in that one movement.   
Jareth cared little about the destruction his clothing had faced, and allowed it to slide to  
the ground, crumpling.  
  
"I need you now," Sarah whispered against his ear, her warm breath sending its  
effect along his body.  
  
He lifted her into his arms at that very instant, never once breaking the kisses,  
which ran across her cheek, down her neck. Sarah's arms wrapped about his neck, her  
fingers tracing a path along his shoulder blades, familiarizing herself with every contour of  
his unbelievable body.   
  
She landed atop her bed, cast between pillows of every shape and size. Velveteen  
material of one cradled her head, as she gazed seductively towards the man whom  
observed her. It was nearly like her dream, that which she feared the most, but found the  
need for it to happen greater, greater even than her terror. She swallowed, her nerves  
faltering as his eyes rushed over her, gracing each section of her form with several seconds  
of homage.  
  
Then he bent over her, pulling so near that she felt as if she would scream, but only  
begged him to hurry, to continue, to at last quench the fire which had burned since she  
first saw him, in her parent's room, when she had been but fifteen. Then he had been  
clothed in menace, but her teenage mind had been attracted to the mystique which  
encompassed his every movement, and that dance, those intoxicating hands, and the near  
touch of their lips as she pulled away to leave the enchanted dream, and rescue her  
brother. This was what that had all been leading to, this the peak of their passion at last  
allowed to vent as his lips raced down her chest.  
  
He looped his hands within the elastic waistband of the sweats she had donned for  
the work in which she had partaken. Their glamour was lacking altogether, but never had  
she suspected that she would be in such a situation as was currently unraveling in her  
chambers. If the idea had once entered her mind then, perhaps, given the preconception of  
nerves and her worries about appearance, the attire she was currently found in (though it  
seemed that the state of attire would soon be gone from her body) would have been  
discarded before considered.  
  
The soft material gently slipped from about her hips, sliding submissively down the  
curves of her legs. She shivered, the evident chill in the room that much more attacking  
when the last stitch of garments she had bore was removed. Her socks, however,  
remained, even when all else had been discarded of, and Jareth returned, running his hands  
across her bare flesh in a manner which drove her nearly from her mind.  
  
They dove into waters of intense primal pleasures, unknown and mysterious to all  
but the rarest form of lovers. Jareth's caresses ran down her thighs, parting those sculpted  
legs, muscles taught and tightened, as anticipation wrought itself within the deepest  
portion of Sarah's gut. His fingertips graced her inner thigh, racing against each other,  
and sending sensations she had only dared to dream in her most secretive times.  
  
For a brief and fleeting moment that magical, nearly vibrating touch, tantalized the  
innermost core of her passion. She squirmed at the gracing pleasure which arose as a fire,  
burning to the extremes of blazing nearly out of control, and then promptly sizzled back to  
that of dull flames, forever taunting, as his hand wove its way across her firm abdomen.   
He stroked the gentle, subtle upwards curve of her breast, until at last touching her lips, so  
soft, and perfect.  
  
"Jareth," Sarah whispered, her voice cracking noticeably, suffering from the  
overwhelming emotions which rained down upon her.  
  
Jareth turned his majestic eyes downwards, and stared deeply into her lovely face.   
A smile lit his lips, one so true that it made Sarah ache with a feeling of surety, of near  
love, just to look into his gaze. She returned his contented smile, with one of her own,  
and then reached out to stroke her delicate hands through his golden mass of hair.  
  
Without a single movement on Jareth's part, the entire room filled with a  
breathtaking golden luminance. It shrouded the two lovers, intertwining between their  
bodies, and literally bathing them in the resplendent highlights of magic. Sarah watched  
the light in awe, as Jareth's lips ran down her neck. And suddenly, she no longer felt the  
silken material of his tight pants, restricting the movement of their flesh, together.  
  
She wrapped her arms around his back, feeling muscles quiver with pent-up  
excitement, lust. She rolled her head back, feeling them become one as he raised his hips,  
ever so slightly, beginning the most ancient act of love, as sublime pleasures rolled through  
the liquid gold overhead, basking in intoxicating magic.  
  
Sarah closed her eyes, and found his lips to meet her own. It felt as if the entire  
world had stopped, had become non-existent, so as to offer this time of such divine  
intervention to take place.   
  
All had become combined. Their minds delved within each other, as physical  
bodies did the same. She could feel his thoughts, his emotions, deep secrets which laid  
hidden far beneath that mask he wore, were suddenly surfacing behind her closed eyes.   
And a glorious resonance of magical proportions enshrouded her body. She could feel his  
power, his essence, the magic that dwelled within him, racing through her as everything  
else took place. This only heightened the entire experience.  
  
Her eyes snapped open, as the power engorging her mortal soul became  
overwhelming. She clutched at Jareth, his skin standing out in a fine sheen of sweat, and  
allowed the energy to burst forth, against him. All around the golden shower continued,  
and then faded, faded into nothingness to leave the normal environment of her room, of  
Fontridge, of reality.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Sarah laid her head upon his chest, her flushed cheek resting against his ribcage,  
and rose with each deep breath he took. His hand ran along her spine, tracing the curve of  
her back, only to move upwards again and caress her shoulders. She could have remained  
there for life, laying in the arms of the Goblin King, the scent of perspiration, intermingled  
with that of shampoo and magic, resting within the single sheet which laid upon their  
bodies.  
  
She could nearly imagine Jareth taking her from this place, to his castle, where  
they could live together. The image of the fantasy future came to her mind, as exhaustion  
set in, claiming her consciousness, and driving the young woman into a contented sleep.   
All the while Jareth continued to stroke her bare skin, gazing into her serene face, as she  
drowsed upon his chest.  
  
The clock upon the wall chimed midnight, and he could almost hear the tell-tale  
sound of the thirteenth hour, ringing in the Underground, while he, once more,  
disregarded the laws. His brother had scarcely left when Sarah's cries rose to his ears,  
those which he could not ignore.   
  
Now his kingdom was abandoned again, and he dwelled in the company of a  
mortal. No one had seen, and so his secret was safe for the time being. Still, the sickening  
reality struck him, and Jareth knew deep within, that this could not continue. He could  
not sneak about like a criminal, daring to spend few fleeting hours in her company, while  
the Underground slept.  
  
He rose carefully, resting a pillow beneath her heavy head. It would not do to be  
there when she awakened, or the rest of the manor did, for that matter. All Hell would  
break lose, should a strange man be seen in lovely Sarah's bed. Peter, most certainly,  
would find it unacceptable.  
  
There was something about the playwright, that did not settle with Jareth. A  
mannerism, or perhaps the way the man looked at Sarah. It was odd, but Peter remained  
bathed in mystery, despite Jareth's powers, crystals, and spells he dare send upon the man.   
It was not a case to be dwelled upon at the hour, however, for now was the time to take  
his leave.  
  
Jareth swept himself into his traveling form, and, by way of the suddenly opened  
window, dove into the night sky. His white feathers contrasting against the black, as he  
soared onwards, back to his kingdom.  
  
All the while, Sarah slept soundly in her bed. She did not dream, but felt the  
presence of her newly acquired lover about her during her rest. It was only when she  
awakened, early in the grand and lovely morning, that she realized he had gone. It was  
not a great surprise, for Jareth could not possibly remain through the duration of the night.   
Still a part of her continued to long for him, even while she dressed, and prepared herself  
for another day of rehearsals.  
  
  



	27. Rose Petals and Owl Feathers

Chapter Twenty-Three: Rose Petals and Owl Feathers  
  
"I mustn't return, for, should I be caught, I will, most certainly, be held prisoner in  
my chambers, and you shall be put to death," Sarah proclaimed, as she momentarily  
averted her eyes over her shoulder, perhaps expecting something to come.  
  
The man before her shook his head and reached out, grasping her cold hands in his  
own. Sarah instantly looked back towards him, her eyes brimming with misty tears, as she  
realized just what was at stake. He managed to smile, only slightly, just enough to force  
her sadness away.  
  
"You will be safe, and we will meet at the bridge, nearer your house than this  
clearing, and then we shall both be free," he whispered, and leaned in to kiss her lips with  
passionate surety.  
  
Then, disturbing the romantic atmosphere, a large crash resounded through the  
theatre. Sarah jumped back, barely holding in a sharp scream. The actor nearest to her  
tore the long blonde wig from his head and tossed it to the ground. His anger raged as he  
turned to face Peter, whom rose with a start and rushed upon the stage.  
  
"What the Hell was that!?" he demanded, skirting past the fallen wig and the two  
performers.  
  
A meek face appeared from the other side of the stage setting. Another recent  
addition. Five others had been flown in, and had instantly been put to work, learning lines,  
directions, and constructing the sets which were quite shabby. The play was hopelessly  
behind schedule.   
  
Sarah slunk against the constructed wall, feeling it shift quite a bit. She instantly  
straightened, brushed at the wrinkles in her silken dress and turned to glance at the actor  
opposite her. His gaze caught hers, and a brief, but haughty smile lit his features. Sarah  
held back a nearly unstoppable urge to roll her eyes, but did turn away from him.  
  
She, at last realizing that the rehearsals would not continue for some time, sat  
upon the large wooden stage, allowing her legs to dangle over the ledge. She listened to  
the bickering backstage. Peter, once more, was trying to sort things out before the chaos  
got the better of him. Sarah was contented to rest, allowing her mind time to wander and  
contemplate upon the meeting with Jareth, which seemed so very far away, being that it  
had occurred nearly a week ago.  
  
The hand upon her arm broke her from the sweet reveries which had encompassed  
her mind. Sarah's eyes snapped open, and she flashed her shocked gaze backwards,  
finding the grinning face of the blonde actor peering at her. She did smile, but shrugged  
her arm to knock his hand from her.  
  
"I sense some friction here, Sarah," he stated, placing himself beside her and  
urging her to continue the conversation.  
  
Sarah turned to look at him, serious in response to his almost friendly attitude.   
She placed her script by her side and forced herself to match his stare, meeting those cool  
brown eyes with her own.  
  
"I wonder why, Jack?" she demanded, sarcasm dripping from her every word.  
  
He was the one to roll his eyes at this, and leaned back a bit on the stage. Sarah  
watched him, scrutinizing each movement he dared to make. However, Jack seemed to  
show little concern with her responses to him, and continued to bask in his self-induced  
illusion of fame and glory. Sarah would have scoffed, had she been incited to do as much.  
  
"That all happened weeks ago, darling," Jack responded, folding his arms behind  
his head as he laid himself down.  
  
"I would prefer you call me by my name, and remain professional," Sarah  
remarking, bitingly.  
  
She rose from her position on the stage, and quickly leapt down to ground level.   
Jack instantly rose to a sitting position, watching her walk between the aisles of pristine  
chairs and the leather couch situated off to the side. Sarah did not once look back to  
acknowledge him, nor the questioning looks offered by others who saw her depart.  
  
Sarah left the stuffiness of the theatre. She had grown quickly tired that day, and  
became bored with the endless overstretched pauses, which resulted from previous  
backstage disturbances. Now, hearing the sound of the swinging door flap briefly in its  
frame behind her, she was able to allow a sigh of relief to escape her pastel lips. She was  
free to relax, for the first time in the week.  
  
Once again her mind took the natural path back to the phenomenal event, between  
herself and the supposed enemy, Jareth. Since that time she had not seen the grand Goblin  
King, nor had his influences affected her life in any sort. It was what she had wished for,  
what she had wanted since first arriving at Fontridge. Only, now, Sarah feared that she no  
longer could continue without him in her life.  
  
It had begun as merely her form of power, her proof that the Fae lord did not  
continually reign over her. But, without her realizing, he, once more, had become  
supreme dictator and she was, unfortunately, subject to his every whim. His sudden  
decision to leave her alone with only her company was devastating, when all she longed  
for was his presence, again.  
  
Sarah swung open her door, pausing a moment at the threshold, her hand resting  
upon the polished golden knob, which shone brilliantly as the sun's rays struck the fine  
metal. She looked at her room, not the one she had first been showed to, but rather a  
substitute after the unpredictable fire had consumed the other. She was, as a result of her  
own spontaneous actions, the only one left along the large hallway. Gabrielle as well as  
the former leading lady, and the only other female in the play, remained missing. Sarah,  
however, knew where they were.  
  
She continued inside, her mind spinning with constant clashing ideals. On one side  
was that burning desire to be with Jareth, in his magical fantasy, while, on the other, she  
knew that he had taken the other actresses, and had been so very cruel to young Emelia.   
She was at a loss as to what her feelings should have been, or could be, for that matter.   
What choice was there other than to continue on as she had begun, and hope that she was  
not mislead.  
  
Sarah fell on her bed at last, allowing her sore muscles to relax, without the strain  
of weight and pressure upon them. She lounged, smiling a bit as memories of sweet  
occurrences returned to her imagination, and the scene of love and lust played on in vivid  
detail behind her closed eyes.  
  
She could almost feel his touch upon her leg, his lips poised before hers. She  
could feel his presence encircle her, and knew that soon he would press so near that she  
would nearly die with a bursting of emotions unable to be denied.  
  
"It is a lovely fantasy, Sarah, but just that. Step into reality," a cultured,  
sophisticated voice swept through the room.  
  
Sarah snapped her chocolate eyes wide open, and sat up, gazing at the  
wine-colored chair which had been empty upon her arrival to her chambers. Now,  
however, that was not the case. He rested upon the chair as divine as a sweet liquid, one  
slender leg encased in black tights, was draped over the arm of the piece of furniture. He  
wore only a simple cream poet's shirt, and held a lovely crimson rose in his hand, twirling  
it before his changeling eyes.  
  
"Did you think I would never come?" Jareth asked, at last breaking the unnerving  
silence which had befallen them.  
  
Sarah shook her head in denial of such a belief. Yet, there had been a part of her  
which had begun to truly fear that Jareth would never return. She swallowed and rose to  
her feet, but paused as Jareth brought his hand up, and averted his mesmerizing gaze  
towards her.  
  
His hand was bare. Sarah looked at the soft, pale palm with a sort of amazement.   
She had never, save the instance when they had rested in her bed, seen him without his  
leather gloves, those harsh black articles which were so very horrible.  
  
"Shh, my love," he whispered and then rose with the grace of true nobility, from  
the chair, rose still in hand.  
  
Jareth approached her, his grin positively seductive as he paused, and swept the  
rose's sweet scented petals over his lips. Sarah shivered a bit, but continued to watch in  
awe of this divine creature, whose beauty was nothing less than mythical.   
  
He then reached out, and touched her cheek, which rivaled the softness of the  
petals, with the rose. Sarah inhaled the lovely aroma, feeling as if she was suddenly in a  
garden of the flowers, instead of within Fontridge Manor, with only a single red bud. She  
smiled instinctively to the gentle brushing touch.  
  
"Why were you so long in coming, Jareth?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing a bit  
with mild concern, and wonder.  
  
Jareth did not consider answering the question for a moment, but instead drew  
nearer to his lover, and hesitated, lips only a breath of a distance from hers. He cocked his  
head, gazing deeply into her fathomless eyes, as if trying to understand what was inside  
Sarah that had so bewitched him.  
  
He then held the rose, his face still inches from her own, and tossed it overhead.   
Sarah's smile remained, but she did not realize the true extent of his magic until the softest  
of petals began to rain upon them.  
  
She instantly looked upwards, and gasped. Rose petals, the shade of dark crimson,  
the shade of the dress he had given her, and of the chairs in the room, poured from the  
ceiling, cloaking the ground in a flood of red. She laughed, gazing about, literally drinking  
in all that she saw, and all the magic that surrounded her.  
  
"It's beautiful," she whispered, at last turning back to Jareth and his intense gaze,  
which was not slow in meeting her own.  
  
He pressed forwards and kissed her, passion raising and burning in that heated  
moment. Jareth's arms found their way about her waist, cradling her closely, and he  
lowered her to the rose-covered ground.   
  
All around, as their two bodies merged in divine love, rose petals fell upon them,  
filling the room with a heavenly aroma, and true fantasy magic.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Laying there, in the twilight hours of dusk, when light intermingled with darkness  
in their ethereal dance, everything appeared serene and perfect with the world. It felt, as  
she was cradled against her lover's noble body, that she could easily leave her world for all  
time, if only Jareth would swear his affections to her.  
  
A sort of exhausted satisfaction rested in her soul, sending warmth throughout her  
body, and a delicate smile upon her lips. Sarah rested her head upon his chest, listening to  
each breath he took, as his ribcage rose and fell in unison. It was quite easy, in that  
perfect minute, to believe Jareth was a mere mortal, which he most certainly was not.  
  
Sarah briefly stroked a stray petal, which rested sullenly upon Jareth's abdomen.   
Alone, much the same as her in this world. A loneliness she no longer wished to  
experience. Life had become too gray and dull to satiate her vast palate for adventure.   
She wanted more, more than could be offered anywhere.  
  
"Jareth?" she asked gently, now taking the delicate crimson, petal into her hand to  
smell its lovely aroma.  
  
His body tensed only slightly at the mention of his name, and he averted his  
wandering gaze to the lovely brunette. She did not look towards him, but rather remained  
fixated on the petal, falling between her fingers, only to be taken up once more into her  
palm.   
  
"Am I going to be discarded, when you're through? Like Emelia?" Sarah  
pondered, bracing herself for the forthcoming explosion her inquiry would incite.  
  
There was nothing, save his movement to place his warm hand against her bare  
back. Sarah allowed a deep breath to pass from her pursed lips, as she waited, anxiously,  
to hear.   
  
"I did not abandon her, and will not leave you either," Jareth whispered.  
  
Sarah accepted his response, but found her curiosity roused. The diary proclaimed  
something far different than what Jareth had to say. Emelia wept for months, knowing  
that she had been left by a man whom she had believed loved her. Not once was it  
mentioned that the Goblin King returned, to apologize. It ended with Emelia, overcome  
with grief, signing her own suicide note. Then the diary was sent, possibly through her  
friend, Duncan, to be hidden away. She took her life shortly later, or so one would  
assume.  
  
"You don't have to lie to me, Jareth," Sarah whispered, now, at last, turning her  
dark chocolate eyes towards him, to meet his gaze.  
  
"I wouldn't," he answered gently, running a single finger down the soft curve of  
her cheek.   
  
She managed a slight smile at this, but seriousness seemed to have blanketed the  
room, and their conversation. He had carefully avoided an answer which did not lead to  
more questions. Sarah rose, drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms about  
them. Jareth made no movement in response to Sarah's action.  
  
With careful, decisive intent, she plotted yet another form of question, to be  
directed towards Jareth. She was determined to discover what would come of their affair.  
  
"Will you take me then, to your castle?" Sarah demanded, perhaps catching the  
lounging Goblin King off guard.  
  
An extended moment of silence blanketed the room, creating an atmosphere so  
thick it could easily be cut with a knife. All around the stifling aroma of overly sweetened  
flowers drifted about the closed chambers, encircling Sarah's senses, and nearly driving  
her to collapse from the sheer power.  
  
"Sarah, why must you complicate things?" Jareth demanded, his voice so very  
tired.  
  
He was tired, worn out from life and simply existence. Everything was too much,  
as of late. Now, with the questions, another problem would be tossed inside, to damage  
the delicate workings of their growing relationship. He listened to her breaths, closing his  
eyes in suspense. She would not stop until an answer was reached.  
  
"Is that what I am then, a complication whose entire use is for your satisfaction?"  
she demanded.  
  
Sarah made her way to her feet, throwing one of the many silken sheets from the  
bed over her shoulders. She felt vulnerable suddenly, though her nudity had not affected  
her until she had become angered. Now, she wished only for clothing, and the blanket  
was the closest she could come at that moment.   
  
"Sarah, there are certain workings of the law which... do not shine lightly on such  
relationships, as I mentioned earlier. Why endanger yourself with these outbursts?" Jareth  
asked, a sigh breaking his words in midstream.  
  
Sarah looked at Jareth for quite some time, just gazing placidly at his closed eyes,  
alabaster skin, so very flawless. She was unable to speak, unable to bring even the most  
menial of coherent thought into her fluttering mind. Then the anger struck her, sending  
her reeling at his response.  
  
"Look at me Jareth!" she demanded, waiting impatiently for him to do as she said.  
  
He opened those azure eyes, flashing with a light of their own making. The deep,  
innate power, held within those mesmerizing orbs of ocean waters, nearly hypnotized her  
as their gazes met. Those, the windows to the soul, truly looked directly into his magical  
being. Sarah shivered, sensing all that overwhelming energy, and nearly feeling the careful  
drill of electricity driving into her entire body.   
  
At long last she tore her gaze away, trying to remember what it was that she  
wished to talk about. Her mind cleared, leaving the memory of what had been said, out in  
the open. Once more she tried, this time avoiding those hypnotic eyes.  
  
"Then why did you begin this, Jareth, if it could not be carried on?" she asked,  
slowly, meaningfully, and with deliberation.  
  
She realized, only after the question had been asked, that the Goblin King was now  
clothed entirely, and standing at his full height. He appeared refreshed, far from that tired  
nature that had encompassed him moments earlier. He was, once more, the frighteningly  
powerful creature she had always known.  
  
"My dear Sarah, have you not guessed it yet? I came to you because that was  
what you wished. Since that moment when I was first able to come back to you, through  
your dreams, I have wanted nothing more than to free that trapped dreamer held within  
you. Now, as you throw yourself further into this fantasy....," he stopped his explanation  
there, letting Sarah draw her own conclusions.  
  
She shook her head, feeling the first of many salty tears begin to form in her eyes.   
She swallowed, a lump forming in her throat that warned of the oncoming emotion.   
Jareth was not effected by her agony, as he stood, placidly, watching her break down,  
slowly wilting to the ground as she erupted into tears.  
  
"Why, why, why???" she demanded, between hitched sobs.   
  
Her final word came out in a powerful yell. She looked upwards, to the magical  
king. In that moment, when she felt so very defenseless, crumpled on the ground, and  
nothing more than a bed sheet upon her naked body, she saw his mask fall. And behind it  
was a man, still as handsome, still as powerful and magical, but he was not indifferent, but  
rather he cared. His eyebrows drew upwards, presenting worry evident in those sapphire  
eyes. Jareth appeared vulnerable, more so than Sarah herself as he tried to think of what  
to say, but found that words could not bridge the gap that had been driven between them.  
  
The abrupt knock upon the door solved the problem of silence. Jareth looked  
towards it, and then his gaze fell upon the sobbing child, crouched on the carpeted ground.   
His heart broke to see her, but he was tied by law.   
  
He swept backwards, as the doorknob rattled with the sound of a key finding its  
place in the lock. In one brilliant flash of light, the white owl took form and dove through  
the suddenly open window. Behind him the shower of rose petals faded into shattered  
gems and crystals. The lovely dust followed the King through the window, swirling  
through the light breeze.  
  
In a heartbeat's moment the grand door swung open, and Peter rushed inside. He  
instantly fell to the ground, pulling Sarah's crying form into a warm embrace. She minded  
not her questionable attire, but rather wrapped her shaking arms around his neck, and  
sobbed into the rich material that made up his long-sleeved shirt.  
  
"God, Sarah. What-what happened?" Peter questioned, all the while trying to  
soothe her hysterics.  
  
She just shook her head, and continued to cry. Her chest hitched with each  
racking sob. Then, with great intent, she turned her face upwards, and looked at Peter.   
He was so different than Jareth, but also so very similar as well. There was something,  
some characteristic that made him different than all the other men she had seen.   
  
"A dream, a horrible dream," she whispered and then laid her head back on his  
shoulder.  
  
Peter gently stroked her back, which was still shrouded by the satin sheet. He did  
not inquire about her obvious lack of clothing, but did note the faint trace of roses in the  
air. Peter's eyes narrowed, as he looked towards the window, and saw a single snowy  
white feather drifting downwards, towards the balcony ground. His demeanor remained  
caring, but the expression upon his handsome face was cast in dark, forboding light, and  
his teeth clenched behind tightened lips.  



	28. The Portrait

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Portrait  
  
Sarah meandered casually through the large room, lit on all sides by wall-mounted  
torch-like electrical lamps. It stretched far and wide but was so markedly barren that it  
drilled loneliness into her already broken self. The entire expanse of the ground was lined  
with pristine shimmering tile which reflected her figure dutifully back to her widened  
chocolate eyes.  
  
As she stepped into the exquisite, grand ballroom, her mind instantly faded back  
into a time hidden in the depths of her past. A crystalline dance hall, filled with gearing,  
masked guests, consumed her imagination. And dominating the center of the chaos, was  
none other than Jareth, resplendent in navy and shattered magic. In his eyes dwelled the  
mysteries of the Underground.  
  
It had been weeks now... since Jareth had left her in a flurry of downy feathers,  
along with his incantation. Weeks since she had felt him beside her, and still her heart  
ached uncontrollably with the pain he had inflicted. Sarah stopped walking and glanced  
out the massive windows which completely lined one wall of the ballroom.  
  
The night outside was perfect, without a single marring cloud dwelling in the  
lovely navy sky. She remained that way, paused in the middle of the deserted, polished  
floor, her eyes fixed on the scenery through the glass.  
  
"Sarah?" A sudden voice jarred her from her thoughts and sent her reeling around.  
  
She managed a shaky smile directed towards Peter, who leaned against the  
doorframe. He stood straight and then began to walk inside, his steps echoing with each  
time his heels clicked upon the tiles.   
  
"I found it. I'm sorry, was I not supposed to be here?" Sarah inquired, turning  
once more to look over the land.  
  
"Fontridge is open to all. Do you enjoy it here, Sarah? Are you happy?" Peter  
questioned, stopping just behind her so that she felt the need to look at him once more.  
  
Sarah nodded her head, with a bit too much hesitation to prove that she was  
indeed happy. Lying was not her strong point, and Peter instantly understood. He almost  
reached out, to touch her shoulder, to, perhaps, comfort her, but stopped before making  
any sort of contact. Sarah shied away before he could reconsider and go through with  
what was originally intended.  
  
"I'm fine. It's lovely here, really. Anyone would be a fool not to enjoy it entirely.   
It's like...like a fairytale," Sarah whispered, a strange twinge resounding deep in the  
innermost core of her being.  
  
"Then why do I not believe you? Sarah, what happened that day, when I found  
you?" Peter forced the question on her suddenly, without any semblance of a warning.  
  
She faltered noticeably at this sudden change of conversation. Peter however  
appeared calm, and waiting for the answer. Without a word Sarah turned away from him  
once more, and leaned up against the wide window, which appeared so very clean that it  
seemed there was no glass at all separating her from the sky outside.   
  
She remained there, trying to sort the rambling thoughts in her mind, and knowing  
that Peter was anxiously awaiting the answer to his inquiry. She could feel his eyes  
drilling into her back, as she stalled.  
  
"It was a dream, like I said. I went to sleep and had a horrible dream, and woke  
up stripped from my clothes. I thought... I don't know, but I broke down and you found  
me then," Sarah stated, rushing through the explanation as if she had planned it all out  
ahead of time.  
  
Peter was silent for some time, perhaps going over her response in his head. She  
swallowed, nervously awaiting what he would say next, either accepting or denying such a  
statement. Then she felt it, warm breath against her neck. Sarah squirmed, but found  
herself pinned beneath the body behind her and the window.  
  
"We both know that that was not how it happened. Sarah, tell me the truth, for  
once, please," Peter begged from behind her.  
  
Sarah continued to gaze out of the window, wishing it all to be gone. She wanted  
only to be free from the entire world that had held her captive for so very long. It was so  
wrong, all of it. Her life, her experiences, the feelings she now experienced, they had all  
been horribly warped when compared to the "typical" woman her age.   
  
She moved her head just enough to gaze somberly into Peter's emerald eyes. They  
flashed, appearing nearly cat-like, in the lamps' illumination, and brought not so distant  
memoirs of *HIS* eyes to her imagination. There was so much different about Peter,  
more than Sarah cared to know.  
  
"I told you already, Peter," she replied, and felt him move away, relinquishing her  
from her constrained position.  
  
She nearly tripped upon the gown she wore. Sarah steadied herself, straightened  
the lovely costume and then fixed Peter with her most serious expression. He was not,  
however, in the mood for her anger, and slowly turned to leave her alone.  
  
Sarah watched, silently, as he walked from the ballroom, his shoulders hunched  
and his spirits shattered. She tried to say something, anything to lighten the atmosphere.   
Yet, it was too late. Peter's form was gone when, at last, she uttered a whispered "wait."  
  
"What did I do?" Sarah asked gently, shaking her head in complete confusion.  
  
There was no easy answer. Once more, her mind troubled with thoughts of what  
could have been done differently, she turned to gaze out of the clear window, and into the  
night. Shards of crystalline stars dotted the vast velvet sky, and the moon hung, glowing  
with white serenity.  
  
Everything bore labyrinth undertones, even the night landscape. Sarah slowly  
walked forward, the high heels of her shoes echoing as they clicked against the ground. It  
was a strange hallow sound, forcing loneliness all around. After all, she was the only soul  
in the vast room, which would appear more comfortable with masses of people.  
  
The ground, trees, even the lovely stable, where all bathed in the white illumination  
from the overhead moon. It was so lovely, so breathtaking, but, despite herself, Sarah  
yearned to be gone. She knew, somewhere deep inside, that the night witnessed in the  
Underground would put this one to shame.  
  
A slight waving outline, almost only a shadow, reflected against the flawless  
window. Sarah instantly spun about, and gasped. The room, the ballroom, had become  
what she believed it should have been..... filled with lovely people.  
  
Countless ladies and gentlemen whirred about, dancing to a waltz which sounded  
as if it came from some great distance. They appeared so very lifelike, but their figures  
blurred in and out of reality as Sarah watched, unable to move. Her shock overcame any  
actions she wished to have taken, or any words she would have spoken.  
  
"Sarah," a soft, musical voice stated from her side.  
  
She managed to turn her head, and look at the nearly identical woman who stood  
there, hands clasped together.   
  
"Emelia?" Sarah asked, her voice shaking horribly as the truth pounded into her  
fragile mind.  
  
The girl managed a smile, though it pained Sarah to see it. Emelia was so hurt,  
and eternal tear stains rushed down her pale cheeks. She was clothed in the same  
cornflower blue dress that she had worn when Sarah first saw the young spirit. Yet,  
Emelia's hair was done up this time, for the ball, into lovely chestnut spirals raining down  
around her face.  
  
Emelia reached out and took Sarah's hand into her own. She tugged gently, but  
insistently, urging Sarah to follow her. What choice was there really? They were in the  
middle of a grand ball that had taken place some hundreds of years ago. Sarah had,  
already, admitted to herself that she had sunken completely into insanity.  
  
"Come, Sarah," Emelia whispered.  
  
The young woman seemed to float upon the ground, never once pausing to step.   
Sarah took up her skirts, and followed quickly behind, anxiously wondering where she  
was being led. The wove between couples, oblivious upon the dancefloor, and through  
crowds of men talking about politics, and other matters which were of no interest to either  
girl.  
  
They stopped abruptly at the farthest wall, which was covered, in majority, by a  
massive painting. Three people were portrayed by the amazing artist, whom had created  
such a masterpiece. Sarah, at once, recognized Emelia, perhaps at the age of ten, and  
took the man and woman to be Mr. and Mrs. Fontridge.  
  
Emelia motioned once more, urging Sarah to hurry, and not dawdle past the  
portrait. The spirit stopped at a door, which matched the golden shading of the walls  
perfectly. Even the knob appeared to be but an extent of the ornate designs done in  
plaster over the expanse of the entire ballroom. Emelia swung the lovely, camouflage  
door open, and then disappeared inside, in the darkness which it led to.  
  
Sarah followed close behind, ducking inside shortly after Emelia. At once she was  
overcome by blackness. There was nothing, save the eternal dark which ate up anything  
that sat beyond the door. Then, with a resounding slam, the door blew closed, leaving  
Sarah prisoner in the frightening, mysterious room.  
  
"Emelia? Where, where...?" Sarah began, finding herself unable to continue as  
shivers raked across her body.  
  
Then, with a hiss as the candle was lit, a orange flame sputtered forth in the dark  
abyss. Sarah fixed her eyes upon the dancing fire, and slowly crept towards it, and the  
dancing illumination it offered.   
  
A small, delicate hand wrapped about her forearm, feeling so real that Sarah nearly  
screamed. Then the familiar face of the young woman appeared in the light, orange hues  
cast over her pallor. She pressed a single finger to her lips, urging Sarah to remain silent  
in the darkened room. Sarah nodded, though was beginning to feel the need to leave the  
confines of the black chamber, and do so soon.  
  
Emelia turned, and tugged lightly on Sarah's arm, as she walked further into the  
nothingness of the room. A heavy velvet drape brushed against Sarah and she pushed it  
away. Instantly a face was there to meet her, only barely distinguishable in the scant  
amount of light offered by the small candle Emelia held. Sarah, instinctively, jumped away  
and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to prevent any screams.  
  
"It's a portrait, Sarah," Emily whispered, and urged Sarah onwards, into the  
seemingly never-ending chamber they had entered.  
  
Sarah looked the picture over, and realized the folly of her ways. She had taken  
the lovely face to be real, and not some concoction of an artist's mind. She paused  
momentarily to look over the portrait, noting several similarities in the way the face was  
shaped, and the youthful glimmer in the man's eyes.... Such a lovely shade of emerald,  
and hair so very dark raven in color.  
  
"Peter?" Sarah asked gently, reaching out to touch the canvas, when she was  
abruptly driven away by ever insistent tugs on her arm.  
  
Sarah turned her gaze towards the ghost, whom had suddenly become quite  
urgent. Yet, before the living woman could utter a single word of complaint, she found a  
sight of overwhelming proportions fill her field of vision. Just as the shock attacked her,  
Emelia's hand dropped away, and left Sarah to see it all alone.  
  
A young man, clothed in dated attire, which certainly did not belong to this era,  
was atop a majestic black steed. The horse's noble head rose proudly into the cerulean  
sky, and his coat glistened with perfection. His eyes rolled slightly back, revealing white  
sclera to the world. Both mane and tail rode a timeless wind, which never ceased in its  
playful nature. Sarah had seen such a beast but once.... in Fontridge's stables.   
  
The rider had acquired the most of her attention. He was handsome, debonair, and  
suave. There was no grin upon his pale face, but his eyes shone with utter mischief. They  
blazed forth from the canvas in an array of lovely emerald hues, dancing with a light of  
mirth that Sarah could recall witnessing in a certain Goblin King's eyes. His own mane of  
raven hair also drifted in the wind, as did his crimson cloak.   
  
Most disturbing was the way he looked at her, from that portrait. It was so huge,  
nearly lifelike in size, and, being lit only by the flickering candle's flame, it seemed more  
sinister than it should have been. The man's eyes bored directly into hers, as if, through  
the paint and canvas, he wished to rule her, dominate her, and control her.  
  
Sarah shivered, and backed away, her heart racing at a truly unnatural pace. She  
could not remain, not when the revelation of who this appeared to be, struck her. It could  
not be, but it seemed as if there was no denying the fact upon the aged canvas.  
  
The rider was, or at least appeared to be, Peter.  



	29. A Dire Mistake

Chapter Twenty-Five: A Dire Mistake  
  
"Sarah!" a voice echoed down the hallway just as she emerged from the haunted  
ballroom.  
  
She jumped, slamming the door of the room she had just exited, in the process.   
The outline of the man who had called to her was quickly drawing nearer. Sarah was  
prompted to run, and leave all these people behind, but found herself face to face with  
Jack before she could go through with her plan.  
  
He was only barely winded from the sprinting down the passageway, and flashed  
Sarah a smile as he came to stop beside her. She returned it, though did so out of instinct  
more than actual thought. Jack didn't seem phased by the lack of conviction in her  
response, for he came to stand directly beside her, took her arm into his, and then  
immediately led her down the way from which he had come.  
  
Sarah relented a bit, wondering why she should continue to try to leave, when it  
was so obvious that she was outnumbered. Still, there was no point in going easy for  
anything, especially after seeing the portrait, the shocking, unbelievable portrait! Now she  
doubted everything, and was even more suspicious of Peter than before.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" Sarah demanded, tearing her arm from his.  
  
Jack sighed deeply and then flashed his eyes at her. Sarah noted, without much  
surprise, that he had placed the lovely blue contact back into his eye. She no longer felt  
stunned seeing the odd phenomenon, for it was not near as amazing as Jareth's. A twinge  
of pain struck her innermost being at the thought of the Goblin King.  
  
"Rehearsal, Sarah, or did you forget that as well?" Jack inquired, his voice laced  
with the usual sarcasm and domineering tones.  
  
Sarah scoffed, briefly lifted a handful of the heavy material that had been  
constructed into the dress she now wore. There was really no way she could forget the  
play, with the bulky costume weighing her down.   
  
"I'm dressed, aren't I? I needed time to myself," Sarah replied, shuddering a bit as  
she realized that she had never truly been by herself.   
  
It hit her quite suddenly, the revelation about Emelia. She had been with a spirit, a  
haunt, a ghost, and now acted as normal as if she had only just been with an actual friend.   
it did not make sense. Such a frightening sight would surely drive most from the manor  
without a thought. Yet, even as she thought about the perplex situation, she still felt not  
fright directed towards the haunts in the house.  
  
"That you are... You seem to need quite a lot of time to yourself, Sarah," Jack  
stated with a knowing voice.  
  
Sarah ignored the whole direction their conversation had turned and continued the  
rest of the way to the theatre in silence. It was no use trying to speak, for her words were  
warped into meaning what others thought.   
  
Jack stopped at the doors, and swung them open, allowing Sarah entrance before  
him, which was actually the first polite act he had participated in since Sarah had first  
arrived at Fontridge. She strolled in, at once met with several greetings, and even more  
rushed commands.   
  
"I thought you had decided not to join us, Sarah," a calm voice stated from the  
stage.  
  
Sarah turned her deep chocolate eyes upwards, and found herself suddenly cold,  
and covered in gooseflesh. Peter leapt down, landing lightly, and gracefully upon his feet.   
His emerald eyes flashed, much the same as they had in the portrait, so very catlike, feral  
in their quality. There was some sort of power in his gaze, that which she had not noticed  
until now.  
  
"I lost track of time," she explained quickly, and hurried past Peter without  
another look, fearing that she would begin to believe that it was him in the portrait, some  
three hundred years prior.   
  
Sarah took the stairs, rather than attempting to climb upon the stage. The dress  
prevented any form of such activities. It was a lovely crimson color, nearly matching the  
first gown she had been given by Jareth, but it was, by far, less impressive. It was still  
quite a masterpiece, with lovely golden embroidering along the bodice, and a velvet train,  
but it was not magical by any means.  
  
She stood off to the side, watching as the set was changed to the appropriate one  
for the first act and first scene. In fact, the setting was Fontridge Manor, which seemed  
quite odd, since they were performing in the original mansion itself. Sarah shook her head  
and tried to ignore the complexities of the play.   
  
A single sheet of yellowed paper slid delicately to the polished floor of the grand  
stage. Sarah watched it travel its course, and then turned to see who had dropped the  
paper at her feet. A single member of the crew smiled at Sarah, and then continued on his  
way, handing out the single piece of paper to everyone.  
  
Sarah sighed deeply and then retrieved the flyer from the ground. She flipped it  
over and caught her breath. It was the cover to the play, the final addition to make the  
entire thing complete. Peter had finished it, and had ended by titling his masterpiece...  
"Nevermore."  
  
"Are we ready, then?" his voice called from the rows of empty chairs, only a scant  
few occupied by Peter and two other people Sarah had never seen before.  
  
Sarah promptly nodded, trying to hide the uneasiness which arose when she looked  
at Peter, and met his flashing gaze. She turned at once, overcome by the questions still  
raised in her mind, because of that portrait. In the process of escaping direct eye contact,  
Sarah very nearly rushed right into Jack, who caught her about her shoulders.  
  
"Sorry," Sarah stated shortly, and backed away, straightening her long dress with a  
nervous energy.  
  
Jack shook his head briefly and then placed the golden wig, which he had been  
holding in one hand, upon his head. In fact, the actor bore a sudden unnerving  
resemblance to Jareth, what with the mismatched eyes and long silvery-golden mane.   
Sarah shuddered and backed away a bit more, just to make herself comfortable.  
  
"Let's start up at the beginning, guys," Peter called, flipping open his copy of the  
completed play as he lounged back against the cushioned chairs.  
  
Jack flashed Sarah another smile, perhaps to wish her good luck in the first true  
full-length rehearsal they had yet to have. However, it appeared more sinister than full of  
well-wishes. Sarah did not return the grin, but instead walked off stage, as two other  
came on, in the roles of Mr. and Mrs. Fontridge.   
  
It was due to be a long night....  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Sarah collapsed to the ground, beside her a flickering lantern. She looked at the  
source of light as if mesmerized. The flame danced with the magic of ages, and reflected  
against the widened dilation of her black pupils. Her eyes were misted, tears having just  
ceased, but she still hitched in struggled breaths.   
  
"Then with this, my life will be no more. Farewell long nights, endless tears,  
eternal heartbreak....," she proclaimed, moving as to upturn the lantern, and so set  
everything on fire.  
  
However, she paused momentarily, her eyes having been caught upon the lovely  
cover of some leather-bound book. Sarah paused, and removed her shivering hand from  
the lantern. She reached out to the old novel, grasping it firmly, as if she believed it would  
disappear should she dare to loose her grip. She turned it over lovingly, a strained smile  
forming on her worn features, and then stroked the cover with her fingertips.  
  
"I remember you well, I recall memories surrounding your purchase, and more  
made following that time.... you deceived me with false hopes," she accused and nearly  
threw it far away, just to get the accursed thing from her sight.  
  
Still, something forced her to keep the book in her grip, and she looked at it once  
more. There was such magic in the red-covered novel, and she had never truly understood  
the extent of that aforementioned power. Her mind snapped instantly to a particular  
phrase, to a certain passage that had caught her attention some time earlier. Sarah  
lowered the book and looked out into the darkness, a single mighty light poured over her  
lonely form.  
  
"I remember that you did not want me to take the book, could it be a secret that  
needed to remain buried? So, Jareth, this is how it will all end... I suppose it could be no  
other way. So I leave this world with a single plea, from the book you gave to me....," she  
paused for a moment, allowing the true agony of her plight to sink in.  
  
In the audience Peter sat, riveted by the scene she was acting, and her talent, so  
raw and innate. She had nearly driven him to mourning, and he had been the one to right  
it all. He watched, the tears upon her face appearing so very real, and waited, breath held  
as the silence reigned.  
  
Then, taking a deep breath, Sarah summed up her strength. She turned her eyes  
towards the ceiling, as if calling to that great love whom had scorned her, and allowed the  
line to come out, before she had thought about the consequences of her actions.  
  
"I wish that the goblins would...  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Peter's grin of satisfaction changed upon his handsome face. His emerald eyes  
darkened, and narrowed. He held his hands tightly together, thinking of what was to  
come, imagining the grand play that would take place, following Sarah's proclamation to  
Jareth.   
  
He nearly laughed, but sustained it, by but a scant margin. It would not seem fit  
for such a scene that was so stricken with sadness. But the utter paradox of the entire  
situation rung in his head again and again.   
  
Those on the side of him were both enrapt with the drama unfolding before their  
eyes. Why not be taken by the scene, why not be overwhelmed with the tale of doomed  
love, of a scorned woman forever trapped into her room, while her parents took her child?   
The child was from a love out of wedlock, which was, quite obviously, frowned upon in  
those days.  
  
All the while the lover does not hear his lady's cries. He is too far away, having  
left many months prior, to never return. The play did not explain the circumstances  
surrounding Jareth's disappearance, but all understood that he was a lowly cretin. That  
was the way they were supposed to respond, to side with Emelia, and her innocence lost.  
  
Peter waited....  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
".....come and take me away,....."  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
In a darkened castle, lit by but a single candlelight, a King watched the play unfold.   
His horror was wrought upon his face, as he gazed into the perfect crystal balanced in his  
gloved palm. His changeling eyes glowed with intense mysteries, secrets, incantations yet  
to be fulfilled. And in his heart a fear of overwhelming proportions welled.  
  
He could not stop her, could not get through to her mind as she acted out, with all  
the reality of the actual tragedy that had occurred centuries earlier. Jareth willed it away,  
begging for the horrible scene to end, but it was not to be.  
  
"Sarah, don't, please," he whispered, watching as she paused, her chest heaving  
with emotions that were not all put on for the play. Most were of his making, those that  
stirred when he left her.  
  
Jareth glanced at his clock, noting the time. A single click, as the hand moved  
another minute, and the chimes rung free. The infamous hour of thirteen had come, and  
with it echoed the rings, timeless in their quality, ominous in their fate. With Sarah, it  
would be midnight, and she would be sealing her own dark destiny.  
  
There was no moment to spare. Already Jareth could sense another presence  
approaching. His brother, all knew of the goings on, and there was a lack of tolerance left  
for the Goblin King as he continued to break ageless laws. Jareth could almost see  
Nicholas' dark, raven mane, and crystalline eyes, so very pale they seemed to be white.   
  
He did not, however, sense the darker figure, that of the true danger. In the  
shadowed corner dwelled a soul, more ancient than Jareth himself. A being that had lived  
since the dawn of time, and continued to survive as did evil. Something which could not  
be named, but lived by many alias' that millions called it. This thing, which had taken  
residence under yet another fake persona, watched the king and the crystal, and the scene  
within.  
  
All was silent, all was still, as Sarah continued in her final line....  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
...right now!" she demanded, and then waited, her chest heaving.  
  
She stopped then, realizing just what she had uttered, without knowing exactly  
what she was doing. Sarah's face paled, her heart leapt about wildly, and her stomach  
swam with knots of unsurity. She had given herself to the Goblin King, and now was  
victim to her ill-placed words.  
  
A cry from out in the audience resounded, and Sarah leapt to her feet. She was  
blinded by the constant white illumination, offered by the powerful spotlight. She shielded  
her eyes, straining to see from where the sound had been produced. No one else had  
joined her on stage, despite the obvious accident that had just occurred.  
  
"Cut, stop, everyone, please get out here!" Sarah called, waiting.   
  
She turned around on stage, and tried to see into the back, where all the others  
were waiting either to come on, or help in costume changes, or alterations of scenery.   
However, not a sound was uttered in the black silence, and Sarah felt her hopes shatter to  
the ground. She was already doomed, and knew that, somewhere in the darkness, there  
waited a king.  
  
She twirled back about, glaring into the harsh white light. Still no one uttered a  
sound. Sarah swallowed, trying to fight back her fear with every last ounce of strength  
she found hidden in herself. She forced herself to the very end of the stage, and scanned  
the area, now almost able to see the many empty rows of seats. There was no one out  
there, not even Peter.  
  
"Sarah, such a mistake. I never thought you would make it, but, one must not  
assume now," a voice caressed from behind her.  
  
She spun on her heals to face the owner of the voice. There was no one to be  
seen. Sarah's breath quickened, and she backed away, trying to think of some form of  
escape, though her mind seemed to lack the ability to work properly. Her eyes leapt from  
one side of the stage to another, waiting for the man to show himself.  
  
"Where are you?" Sarah asked, her voice shaking uncontrollably.  
  
There was no answer, but a sudden wind lifted outside and sent the walls creaking  
against its gale-force power. It whistled throughout the old manor, and Sarah shivered,  
unnerved by the eerie qualities of the sound. She silently begged for safety, that it was all  
a dream, anything to be free from the nightmare.  
  
"Oh Sarah, it seems that your lost again, only this time you aren't in a maze, and  
your opponent is not some love-struck King, and this is not a fantasy land. You are in  
reality, I must assure you, with deadly consequences for each action. And you have me,  
Sarah, as your adversary," the venomous reply came from everywhere around her, and  
Sarah found herself spinning in circles to try and follow the voice. It was no use, and she  
soon relented.  
  
The sound of footfalls caught her attention. Instantly she spun, to see the black  
silhouette of a man walking towards her. Once more she shaded her eyes, in attempt to  
see who this maniac was, that wished her dead, or something worse, perhaps. Sarah tried  
to back away, but found the stage unrelenting, and her back to a wall.  
  
The light faded, just enough to offer the man's features. He was handsome, with  
dark hair and an equally dark outfit. A smug grin, filled with sadistic intent, rested upon  
his bowed lips. Yet, it was the eyes that caught and held her attention. They were  
emerald, and powerful, filled with the same mesmerizing quality that she had seen in  
Jareth's.  
  
Sarah could not utter a word as she realized who this was that now threatened her  
very life. She shook her head, not believing what she saw, but unable to deny it, for she  
knew now that she was not dreaming. Sarah swallowed deeply, choking down tears  
which threatened to spill in her fear.  
  
Then he stopped, a foot, perhaps a bit closer to her. His warm breath brushed  
against her face, and she felt sickened by it. She had once found this man attractive, once  
had almost loved him... almost. Now, he just stared at her, and she found but one name  
resting on her lips.  
  
"Peter."  



	30. Dark Secrets Revealed

Chapter Twenty-Six: Dark Secrets Revealed  
  
He grabbed her forearm in a vice-like grip, and lugged her forwards, closer to him  
and the edge of the stage. Sarah nearly went over, flailing her arms to regain balance. She  
dug her nails into his arm, but Peter was not phased by the bright droplets of blood which  
slowly began to trickle from his flesh.  
  
Instead he forced her onwards, glanced behind him, as if anticipating something.  
Sarah herself looked around, unable to see a thing in the darkened theatre. Her eyes had  
yet to adjust to the complete lack of light. Peter, on the other hand, could see like a cat in  
the black surroundings.  
  
"Peter! How could you!" Sarah demanded, finding her voice as she nearly toppled  
down the stairs behind him. Her large, bulky dress wrapped about her legs, causing only  
more problems with hurrying after her "host."  
  
He stopped, dead in his tracks and took several long breaths. Sarah tried to free  
herself, but he squeezed tighter, making bright red marks stand out on her paled skin. She  
grimaced, nearly falling to her knees as the pain erupted in her tender arm. Then, with  
vicious intent, Peter turned on her, his eyes glaring through the darkness.  
  
"How could I? Sarah, my dear, I wish to ask you the same question. I thought we  
had an understanding, a relationship if you will. No, the beast came and raised his head,  
and you were charmed. What a sorry mistake, what a horrible decision. Sweet Sarah,  
why did you lie? I can smell him on you," Peter stated, his tones foreboding, filled with  
malice.  
  
Sarah started, her heartbeat racing along within her chest. She shook her head,  
unable to believe what Peter was implying. There was no way that he could know of her  
short fling with Jareth. No one had seen, no one would have believed if had they had seen  
the Goblin King, in the first place. Peter seemed to speak as if he personally knew Jareth.   
Sarah shivered as a dread formed in the pit of her stomach.  
  
"I don't...," she was abruptly stopped by a powerful slap across her face, which  
drove her head to the side.  
  
Sarah allowed her jaw to drop in shock. The painful red welt stood out on her  
flesh, and she dared to touch it with one shaking hand. She then turned her gaze towards  
Peter, noting the look of insanity upon his enraged features. It seemed that suddenly her  
eyes were adjusted to the dark.  
  
"Don't deny it! Don't you dare say that you did not entertain that beast in my  
home!!" he screamed, grasping both her arms in his hands, and roughly yanking her  
towards him.  
  
Sarah turned her face away, begging for him to let her free, to allow her to run  
away forever and never look back. Yet, she felt his warm breath upon her neck, and knew  
that Peter would rather die than let her leave Fontridge, alive. She lost control at the  
sudden revelation and screamed, flailing backwards in a drastic attempt to find her way to  
safety.  
  
Peter grabbed her about the waist and continued onwards, through the swinging  
doors of the theatre, and into one of the many twisting halls that conformed Fontridge  
Manor. The place which Sarah had first taken to be her sanctuary from life, and now  
would prove to be the death of her. She kicked at Peter, but found no benefit for her  
attempts.  
  
A door slammed somewhere in the manor, and a powerful gust of wind whistled  
down through a passageway. Sarah screamed again, and struggled in Peter's powerful  
grip. She beat at his arms, hoping, in vain, to cause him some pain so that he would  
loosen his hold. He did nothing of the sort, but did stop as another door slammed, and  
outside lightning traced across the sky, though it had been a clear night all along.  
  
"Do you feel him? He's here, all around us, waiting to take shape. He's angry,"  
Peter whispered against her ear and then continued on to his final destination.  
  
Sarah stopped her flailing as she realized that she could feel him. Jareth's magical  
presence danced about in every shadowed corner of the grand mansion. She could smell  
his lovely scent, could sense his presence at every turn, and could nearly hear his  
intoxicating voice in the presence of the wind. The Goblin King had heard her words, and  
now was there.  
  
"He'll kill you," Sarah bit out viscously, dragging her heels so as to slow their  
process through the large house.  
  
Peter scoffed, tightening his hold on her. Her ribs stung as the pressure against  
them increased, for his arm was wrapped about her chest. She drew in a quick breath,  
biting back the cries of pain that threatened to explode from her paled lips.  
  
"I want him to come, but he will not kill me, Sarah. He would not dare do any  
such thing," Peter stated, as he turned another dark corner, hauling Sarah ever onwards.  
  
Sarah fell silent. Peter knew everything, and obviously had known it for quite  
some time. She had never met another who had experienced the Labyrinth, or who had  
talked about it but once. Mr. King, however, understood things that she, herself, found  
mysterious. His uncanny knowledge only frightened her to a still greater extent.  
  
Another flash of eerie white lightning erupted from outside, illuminating the dark  
hallway with its force. Sarah cringed and tried, once more, to break free. However, she  
had no chance to do so. Peter threw her to the ground, watching as she rolled and finally,  
collided against something agonizingly hard.  
  
Sarah yelped, folding herself into a fetal position against the large, solid object.   
She turned her misted eyes upwards, still partially stunned by the surging pain that bit into  
her back and head, and looked at the dark shape which stretched far over her. She  
shivered, noting something similar in the way the figure appeared.  
  
Then, as if cued, another door slammed, and the lightning burst forth, casting light  
on the darkened statue. Sarah's eyes snapped open at the sight which was now laid out  
for her. The magnificent ivory statue was what she had crashed into. The figure that had  
first shocked her, when she had just arrived at Fontridge. It was the grand sculpting of  
Jareth, himself.  
  
"Peter, please," she begged, finding that she had lost what little bit of courage that  
had been left in her soul.  
  
Peter said nothing in response to her pleas. He only circled her crumpled form, as  
a lion might stalk its prey. He would soon pounce, and then there would be nothing left of  
her. Sarah trembled, following Peter's movements with her wide, doe-like eyes.  
  
Something soft brushed against her cheek, and Sarah nearly erupted into a fit of  
hysterics. She scrambled backwards, grazing her palms against the rough ground in that  
particular chamber. She looked upwards, expecting to see Peter's sinister face grinning  
down upon her unprotected body. That, however, was not the case.  
  
A brilliant ivory cape drifted in a breeze, which was scented of hundreds of years  
of springs, summers, magical incantations and life. Legs that had once been stationary  
now adjusted to a more natural stance, and those tall boots that had been pure white a  
moment earlier, where ebony in color, as Sarah watched. His sculpted legs flexed a  
moment, and he lowered the raised sword, which was held in black gloves. His mane of  
golden hair framed his lovely aquiline features, and his solemn face came last into life-like  
reality.  
  
Jareth had arisen from the statue of himself, and now looked down at Sarah  
carefully. He then turned, noting Peter, and held the very real sword towards the other  
man. The Goblin King managed a slight grin as he slashed the deadly blade through the  
still air, watching Peter's expression alter from sinister intent, to fear.  
  
"I've waited a long time for this," Peter finally managed, reaching along the wall  
for something which Sarah was unable to see.  
  
Jareth just cocked his head, stepping slowly down from the pedestal he had been  
atop. His cloak swept out behind him as he walked, and approached Peter. The grand  
Goblin King paused and then held his sword out once more, waiting for Peter to make his  
move.  
  
"I would say the same, but I do not tolerate waiting. The girl is mine, and I will  
take her. Will you stand in my way?" Jareth demanded, narrowing his changeling eyes as  
he glared at Peter.  
  
The mortal man simply grasped the hidden thing that he had searched for in the  
dark. In one swift movement he swung his arm, and the weapon, easily reaching Jareth.   
The Goblin King leapt away, graceful as a cat and twice as quick. Though there had been  
no time for a reaction, even those as skilled as his. A bright flow of blood instantly stained  
his sleeve, where the sword had struck his arm.  
  
"Then we will fight, and you will die!" Jareth declared, moving in so that their tips  
of their swords very nearly touched.  
  
Sarah watched in utter horror, scooting away as their fight ensued. Jareth's sword  
clashed against Peter's time and again, as they worked their way around the pedestal,  
where once there had been a life-like replica of the Goblin King. Jareth lunged forward  
and knocked Peter's weapon skillfully from the man's hands.  
  
Jareth stood there, watching the sword clatter to the ground, and then turned to  
acknowledge Peter. He waited a few moments and then motioned towards the weapon,  
allowing his adversary time enough to retrieve what had been dropped. Peter rushed over,  
grasped his sword back in his hand, and struck at Jareth.  
  
"That was a mistake old man," Peter chided, a strange flickering light flashing in  
his emerald eyes.  
  
Jareth started a bit at the insult, and then skillfully worked his way towards Peter,  
forcing the less trained man against the base of the statue. He swept the sword about  
Peter's, blindingly fast in his precision.   
  
Not far away, Sarah watched in utter awe. She waited, her breath held and her  
heart pounding loudly in her ears. She could feel the tension in the room, its stifling hands  
gripping her throat. She swallowed, watching as Peter's sword was flung from his hands  
once more, leaving him defenseless to Jareth's will.  
  
"Mistake? I think not," Jareth chided as he forced Peter to the ground, pinning the  
man with one of his black boots.  
  
Sarah rose to her feet, slowly daring to approach the two. The conflict was over,  
with Jareth as the victor. Another flash of lightning raced across the night sky, and cast  
sinister highlights across Peter's face. His anger did not even dissipate as his life hung in  
the hands of the Goblin King.  
  
"Then do away with me, beast. Kill me as you do so many other innocents!" Peter  
proclaimed, tearing open his shirt to bare his chest to the deadly weapon still in Jareth's  
grip.  
  
Jareth pushed the very tip of his sword against that flesh, so that he drew a single  
drop of ruby blood. He watched, a grin forming on his lovely features and then shook his  
head.   
  
"I should kill you," Jareth began, nearly ready to allow Peter to rise back to his  
feet.  
  
A horrible, gut-wrenching scream burst from Peter's lips. He tried to grasp the  
sword's blade, but found it gone, only Jareth's foot remained planted upon his chest.   
There was no way he could make it to his feet, while the Goblin King still bid him remain  
down. Power such as was harnessed by Jareth could not be fought.  
  
Sarah reached out tentatively and touched Jareth's arm. He shivered slightly,  
turning to acknowledge her presence. A slight smile touched his features as he looked  
upon her lovely face. He brushed a single finger along her cheek and then touched her  
soft lips. Jareth looked back down upon Peter and realized the rage that had risen within  
the man's soul.  
  
"Then be done with it! I want no more life! Rid me of this half of myself that  
comes from you!" Peter declared, glaring upwards at Jareth's look of shock.  
  
All was silent. Jareth could not say a word as his mind went over what had been  
said. Sarah, however, suddenly a horrifying shade of white, backed away. She shook her  
head, as knowledge bombarded her damaged psyche. Emelia's child, the one she had  
written about in her diary, the one that she had conceived with Jareth.....  
  
"God, no!" Sarah whispered, her horror evident in her words.  
  
Peter turned his gaze to look at the ashen woman, and grinned slightly. He lifted  
one arm just enough so as to point towards the retreating Sarah. She brought her eyes  
towards the man who had been so kind, and had hidden a horrible secret for nearly two  
hundred years already.....  
  
"She knows! That's right, Sarah. With his blood, eternity was graciously  
bestowed upon me. An eternity to understand my mother's death, my father's  
abandonment, and the truth behind my heritage. Only he," Peter paused as he looked back  
towards Jareth, who was still wondering what this all meant, "...does not know!"  
  
"I do not know what? I beg you to enlighten me," Jareth remarked, sarcasm  
dripping from his words.  
  
Peter laughed, shaking his head as the mirth bubbled forth. Before their eyes, his  
ebony hair grew, so that it was the same length as Jareth's, and the clothing he wore  
melted into an ensemble matching anything the Goblin King might wear. The seemingly  
normal man below Jareth's foot now transformed into something which appeared fae in  
every aspect.   
  
"See me now for what I am! Father, kill me now, and rid me from this torment!"  
Peter screamed.  
  
Jareth recoiled backwards, allowing his sword to clatter to the ground. He denied  
it with a vehement shake of his head. Peter, however, would not leave the confrontation  
at that. He rose to his feet and then met Jareth's gaze. The Goblin King could not fight  
now, and found himself dominated by his son.  
  
"You took my mother as an innocent youth, and seduced her, giving her your  
child, and left!! You do not deserve to live!" Peter threatened as he lifted one gloved hand  
upwards.  
  
A single crystal formed in Peter's empty palm. He acknowledged it briefly, noting  
the lovely curve of the spherical shape and then returned his eyes to Jareth. The Goblin  
King seemed all the more shocked to see his magic in the use of another. His gaze trailed  
across the magical crystal.  
  
"I did no such thing!" Jareth demanded.  
  
"LIES!" Peter yelled and threw the crystal at his father.  
  
The orb struck true, colliding with the royal Fae lord against his chest. Jareth  
stumbled backwards, striking the wall, which was carved with fantastic images that had  
once amazed Sarah. Now she paled even more at the sight of her love, slipping towards  
the ground, seemingly mortally wounded from the magical spell.  
  
"No!" Sarah exclaimed as she rushed forward and fell to the ground beside the  
King.  
  
Jareth's eyes remained fixed on Peter, their power flashing in fading waves of fury.   
He clutched his chest, agony spread across his paled face. The magic had struck true, had  
affected Jareth in a way mortal weapons never could. Now he remained so very still that  
it seemed he would never move again.  
  
Sarah breathlessly touched his face, her eyes so wide and full of misty tears. The  
contact of her chilled flesh against his skin aroused his attention. His crystalline eyes  
drifted towards her, and he managed a light smile, as if to apologize for not returning, nor  
coming soon enough. It would be the second time he had arrived too late.  
  
She shook her head, trying to alleviate his guilt. Yet, before she could utter a  
word, rough hands gripped her about the shoulders and hauled her backwards. Sarah  
tumbled to the ground, reaching out for Jareth, but unable to fight against the strength that  
drew her away.   
  
"Jareth!" Sarah called, fighting against Peter as he continued to force her to her  
legs.  
  
The Goblin King watched, his heart urging him to rise and fight, but his body  
unable to comply. He saw her dragged away by Peter, with a maniacal grin upon his paled  
features. There was nothing he could do.... he had been driven to uselessness by a son he  
had never known. Jareth leaned his head back against the rock wall and closed his eyes,  
trying to block out the scene of horror.... and hide from his past. 


	31. ...To The Death

Chapter Twenty-Seven: "...To the Death"  
  
In the darkness of that moment came a light burning with ethereal energy. It shone  
behind the pedestal, where once a carved homage to a certain King stood. Then, filtering  
around as if the brightness had thoughts of its own, it came to rest upon Jareth, his fallen  
self leaning against the wall.  
  
Hesitating there for a moment, the illumination bathed him entirely, covering from  
head to foot, his entire body. Its golden shower soothed his injury, and his mind which  
remained ill at ease, while Sarah screamed from down the hallway.  
  
"Jareth," came the gentle voice, surrounding entirely his mind.  
  
He opened his eyes, but found that he was not in Fontridge any longer. He was in  
a sort of silvery mist, which covered everything. All around an overwhelming sense of  
sadness lingered, and drilled into his heart. Jareth tried to shake the feeling, but found it  
inescapable as he stood, wondering exactly where he had been brought.  
  
"Have I died?" he asked, and a light series of strained chuckles came in the same  
echoing, tender voice.  
  
"Of course not, Jareth, you will not die," she responded, for now he was certain  
that the detached spirit was, indeed, female.  
  
The mists swirled about near him, and he watched with rapt attention as they  
slowly took shape. They danced upwards, forming arms, legs, a body, and taking on  
colors much different from the original gray hue. His eyes shone with the reflections from  
this awe-striking sight. Never had he imagined.....  
  
Jareth's train of thought halted completely as the mist took shape, and the revealed  
being stepped towards him, the fog parting in her stride. Her coppery hair hung freely,  
nearly to the small of her back, and her face appeared just as lovely as the he had always  
imagined. Still, seeing her again brought shivers along his spine. This could not be.  
  
"How?" Jareth asked carefully, unable to utter another word.  
  
She paused and then looked down at herself, then back towards the stunned King.   
She shook her lovely head, allowing a tender smile to grace her full pink lips. She was  
clothed in a simple cornflower blue dress, that made her only that much more beautiful.   
His heart ached with old wounds, old love, and damnations for what he had done to this  
young woman.  
  
"Sarah brought me back, and now you must save her," The spirit remarked.  
  
She extended one hand and laid it upon Jareth shoulder. For a moment, a single  
tear shone in her eye and then she brushed it aside. Jareth reached out for her, but found  
that his hands could not make contact with her body. She was fading already, going to  
where she should have so many years ago.  
  
"I will love you forever, Emelia," Jareth proclaimed.  
  
All around the sound of crying slowly filtered in, as fresh tears rolled down her  
silken cheeks. She smiled though, amidst the blatant show of sadness, and removed her  
palm from her lover. It had not been meant to be, and it was her time to at last leave the  
mortal world and shed her fate as the spirit horse. Now she could, at last, go home, her  
real home.  
  
The sobs ceased, rather abruptly, and Emelia slowly drifted away. Jareth broke his  
transfixed state and rushed after the retreating ghost. There was no chance of his ever  
catching her. He had known, perhaps since that dreadful day when he had seen her nearly  
burned to death, that she was not meant for this world. Like so many others, her light that  
shone so very bright, burned out far quicker than those more dull.   
  
He stopped and, panting, allowed her to leave at last. Her memory would remain  
with him for all time. Even as he stood there, he could almost hear her faint voice calling  
to him, bidding him farewell from all around. It was as if she had become the mist, and as  
it too disappeared, he no longer heard her voice.   
  
A brilliant white glared through the foggy realm and jolted him suddenly. Without  
warning Jareth found himself again in the castle, for he could feel the rough wall against  
his back. His flashing eyes snapped open, and he observed the darkness of the manor, and  
the pedestal, and the cutting lightning which tore through the dark sky overhead.  
  
Sarah's screams reverberated down the lonely passage, bouncing off walls, and  
returning to him. He jolted upright, and leapt to his feet, ready to pounce. The same  
lightning which tore across the sky lit his darkened pupils, and cast a look of menace upon  
his eyes.   
  
With long, quick strides, he traversed the hallway, and paused as it branched into  
three other passages. He looked from one to the other, suddenly noting the silence that  
had overtaken everything. Sarah was not making a sound, and so he could not follow  
Peter's progression through the grand manor.   
  
"Sarah!" Jareth called, his own voice echoing diligently directly back to him.  
  
For a short time there was no response, and he believed that, perhaps Peter had  
taken drastic measures. For one achingly extended moment he felt that he had lost her,  
had lost another to the horrible pains of reality. Jareth allowed a deep breath to course  
through his system and then began to turn.  
  
"No, Jareth, help!!" Sarah screamed, her voice having become harsh and raspy  
from the constant tears and cries for assistance.  
  
He abruptly swiveled about on his heels, and rushed down the left branch of the  
hallway. Peter's demands for silence followed shortly later, and he heard the sudden  
sound of a hand striking flesh. Jareth winced in unison with Sarah's yelp of pain. He  
quickened his strides.  
  
"You will pay, Peter!" Jareth called, and a power from his innermost being drove  
out into the manor.  
  
All along the hallway doors burst open, allowing rugs and stray pieces of furniture  
to suddenly explode outwards. The destructive force followed behind the Goblin King, as  
his fury increased time and again, with each approaching step he took closer to the two.   
  
Then, only a few short yards ahead, he saw Peter, struggling with Sarah as she  
fought against his hands. Jareth smiled with a predatory glint, and lunged forward. His  
body as lithe as that of the fox, and twice as quick, instantly collided with Peter, forcing  
the deranged man to the ground. Sarah stumbled aside, slamming violently into the wall,  
and managing to shake a lovely portrait to the ground.  
  
"I will not be denied my revenge!" Peter yelled, leaping to his feet as he dove  
towards the King.  
  
Jareth easily avoided Peter's anger-filled movements. He stood there, watching as  
the man collapsed to the ground, his chest heaving with deep breaths. He then turned, and  
glared at the Goblin King, a look of murder embedded within his emerald eyes.  
  
"If I had known, Peter, I would never have left you," Jareth stated calmly, trying  
to push the fight aside. This was, after all, his son, his flesh and blood, the only thing left  
of Emelia.  
  
Peter growled and rushed to his full height once more. He clenched his jaw, and  
fixed Jareth with an icy glare. Jareth held it, keeping his head high and his stance proudly  
straight. Sarah, at the side, watched the two magical beings square off, daring each other  
to make the first move, or perhaps the final....  
  
"If you had known..... You would have known had you been there with my  
Mother! You never cared for either of us!" Peter proclaimed, taking a single step forward  
with the accusation.  
  
Jareth cocked his head, and closed his eyes. It was almost as if the Fae lord had  
admitted defeat with that single movement. Still, he was not prepared to hand Sarah over  
to the grips of death, nor to Peter. He sighed and twisted his hand about, producing a  
near perfect crystalline orb, that shimmered slightly despite the lack of light.  
  
"My actions were dictated, Peter. Do not let this lead to another physical conflict.   
I will not be as slow to act as I was previously," Jareth warned, a touch of threatening  
connotation in his voice.  
  
Peter grinned, which was very similar to that of Jareth's. Sarah watched the two  
men, noting the striking similarities that they shared. She had never connected the two,  
had never even guessed at such a relationship between them. No wonder she had felt that  
Peter was strangely different from most other men.   
  
Peter emitted a single garbled exclamation of war and surged forward, his power  
surrounding him in a luminess of the most brilliant blue Sarah had ever witnessed. The  
light bathed Jareth, but did not harm him. The Goblin King easily walked from the  
incantation and avoided Peter's flailing attempts at fighting.  
  
"Enough!" Jareth demanded.  
  
The Goblin King's magic flowed in a wave of energy, shattering the crystal and  
driving Peter against the far wall. The man struck, slinking helplessly to the ground. His  
eyes remained transfixed upon Jareth, wondering what was to come next. It was obvious  
that Peter had failed, for there was none who could compare to Jareth's raw power.  
  
Jareth casually approached his son, and then hesitated. He stood there, glaring  
down at the fallen man, at the broken half-breed who had been defeated at last. There was  
such pity in Jareth's heart, but it conflicted against his anger. At long last he offered a  
single gloved hand, to aid Peter to his feet.  
  
"You mistake me, old man!" Peter whispered harshly.  
  
He grasped Jareth's hand and pulled the mighty King towards the nearby window.   
In a surge of massive magical incantations the glass shattered. Outside, lightning erupted  
and thunder followed shortly later. Jareth caught himself, but succeeded in piercing his  
palms upon the jutting shards of glass.  
  
Peter grasped the fae lord from behind, wrapping his sweaty hands around Jareth's  
throat. He moved his face near to his father, so that the Goblin King could easily hear  
what Peter wished to say. A single hitching breath brushed across Jareth's face, and he  
silently wondered how he had gotten into the situation. His hand oozed brilliantly red  
blood, which pooled upon the window sill and slipped down the wall.  
  
"You will die for what you did to my mother!" Peter exclaimed, forcing Jareth  
downwards, nearly upon the broken window.  
  
Sarah yelped, rushing forwards to pry Peter away from Jareth, but found herself  
firmly stuck to one place. She struggled against the spell which bound her, but to no avail.   
Peter had predicted her actions correctly. Sarah watched in utter horror, her eyes  
transfixed upon the scene which took place before her. Outside lightning continued to  
light the battle with eerie white illumination.  
  
The razor sharp glass cut into Jareth's shoulder, and fiery licks of pain rushed all  
up and down his arm. Instantly his jacket was stained from the crimson flow of blood. He  
jerked against Peter's grip, trying to break free, but his son was more powerful than he  
had believed. Once more he had underestimated someone, and now would pay the  
ultimate price for his folly.  
  
His neck now remained poised over the deadly, jutting blades of glass. Before the  
King's eyes, flashed scenes of his life, of what he had never had... and of what he had  
allowed to escape his grasps. He could vaguely hear Sarah behind him, screaming in  
hysterics, as she tried to help, tried to stop his death. It seemed so very pointless....  
  
Then a voice filled Jareth's mind. His heart leapt and his fighting soul returned  
with a new reserve of power and magic. Jareth reached around, pulling his hands from the  
glass which had punctured entirely through them. He reached back, willing the pain that  
seared through his entire body to be still for the moment, and grasped Peter's arms.   
  
With strength that Jareth had believed was impossible, he forced Peter away,  
driving the man against the opposite wall. His son erupted into a rage, lunging forwards  
and grabbing Jareth once more, as the King rose, wavering slightly from the loss of blood.   
In one heartbeat of time Jareth stepped aside, and the world seemed to move in slow  
motion.  
  
Peter flailed as he found the floor slick from his father's blood. He dove against  
the remainder of the window, shattering any glass that had still stood. Jareth rushed after  
him, reaching out of the window just as Peter's hands grasped the sill, in a last-ditch effort  
for survival.  
  
"You were wrong, Peter. I died many times for what I did to your mother," Jareth  
stated somberly, as he gazed into the look of utter insanity inside his son's flashing green  
eyes.  
  
Peter grimaced at the pain in his lanced hands. The grits of glass cut into his  
palms, loosing his grip he had on life. He allowed a single scream to burst forth from his  
lungs, as the battle ended. Peter fell backwards, and continued onwards to the ground,  
nearly three stories below. Jareth watched, his face set in solemn tones. He winced but  
once as the body struck the ground, and then turned towards Sarah, who still stood as still  
as a statue.  
  
She hesitated as she started towards the wounded King, for he seemed so dead to  
all emotions, his sapphire gaze as cold as ice. Sarah blinked away the remainder of her  
tears as she continued closer to him. Jareth remained still, solemn for a few fleeting  
moments before his strength gave way.   
  
He struggled backwards, wavering on knees that had buckled beneath him. He hit  
the wall painfully, cringing in the flair of agony that licked all up and down his body.   
Sarah broke her hindrance, and surged onwards, taking the mighty, fallen Lord into her  
arms, as she pressed her face against the silken, bloodied material which made his jacket.  
  
He touched her back ever so gently, wincing all the more as her trembling grip  
struck injuries so very fresh. Still, these would heal quickly, while those inflicted upon his  
heart would last for ages more. Sarah brought her face upwards, her gaze drilling deeply  
into his, questioning everything in that moment.  
  
"Am I still some soul that needs your sympathy, that needs you to save me from  
myself?" she asked carefully, toying with a few locks of his golden mane.  
  
Jareth managed a slight smile. He forced his injured arm to move, ignoring the  
pain as he touched her lovely face. He nudged her chin upwards, noting the subtle line of  
her jaw that trembled only slightly at the feeling of his flesh against her own. She returned  
his smile, though her grin shook as she did so.  
  
"Sarah, you have never been something that mundane to me. I was a fool to...," he  
was cut off by the presence of her finger against his lips.  
  
She rested her head against his shoulder, and simply basked in the presence he  
resonated. Slowly, as if the lightning moved inside the mansion, the electricity returned.   
It moved along the hallways, sending several lamps up into sparks. For the most part,  
lovely illumination covered them, as the spell which Peter had placed upon Fontridge,  
slowly dropped away.  
  
Along with the lights, however, something else returned as well. Screams and  
exclamations of both fear and surprise. Sarah bolted upright, removing her hold on Jareth.   
The others had been returned with Peter's demise, and soon they would find her and the  
Goblin King.  
  
"We have to go," Sarah remarked, hurriedly wrapping her arms around Jareth to  
offer the injured king some semblance of support.  
  
"I can't, not now," Jareth whispered, crying again as the searing agony laced  
through his chest, warm blood still oozing from his numerous gaping wounds.  
  
Sarah glanced behind them, hearing voices down the hallways, perhaps a floor  
beneath them, at the theatre, or leaving the place now.... They would be searching for both  
herself and Peter. Her anxiety leapt into her throat, forming a thick lump which forced her  
breath to hitch. There was no time to waste.  
  
She could nearly sense the other actors taking the stairs, as they searched for her  
and their "playwright." The first to find Peter would receive the worst shock. Still, if they  
were to discover Jareth, bloody, near the scene of Peter's death.... Sarah did not want to  
imagine what would become of the weakened Goblin King.  
  
"Jareth, they are going to find us. Go to the Underground," Sarah demanded,  
looking straight into his powerful cerulean eyes.  
  
He cupped her face in his hands, and shook his head. He was still so very ashen in  
color, so weak from the fight, and his injuries. Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck,  
trying to convince Jareth that now was the time for them to part, they could wait no  
longer. The rest of her troupe were near, so close that she could almost hear their  
footfalls echoing closer.  
  
"We will both leave, then," he stated, and led her towards the shattered window,  
which was only a few scant feet behind them.  
  
Sarah adamantly disagreed, pulling herself free from the king. They could not both  
leave, for she already knew that Jareth's magic was nearly too weak to support him back  
to his world. Besides, she belonged here, not in the fantasy realm, with her lover.... She  
fought back tears at the thought of losing him once again.  
  
"I can't. Goodbye, Jareth!" Sarah sobbed and she turned to run.  
  
Yet, she had not even begun to leave when his hand clasped around her arm,  
halting her in her retreat. She whipped her head about, tears flowing freely now down her  
cheeks, and off the curve of her chin. She could not speak, but pulled her arm, trying to  
shake him off.  
  
"Don't tell me that! Ever since I first saw you, there was that magic in your soul,  
more than any mere mortal ought to possess. Why, Sarah, why do you think I was drawn  
to you, why did you stand out amongst so many other countless pretty faces? This,"  
Jareth paused as he pointed at her chest, motioning to what was held within, "Your magic,  
Sarah, is what makes you, you! If you refuse to use it now, when you at last understand  
the lessons I tried to teach you the last time, then you'll be lost from me forever."  
  
He fixed her with his gaze long and hard, trying to force her decision. She glanced  
about, hearing the sounds of the approaching actors and stage crews. Their voices were  
reverberating down the hall, and she could almost see the faint beam of one high-powered  
flashlight. Sarah turned her eyes back towards the King, and then nodded quickly.  
  
"I don't know how," she whispered, taking his hand firmly in her own.  
  
He brought her slender hand up to his mouth, and kissed it gently. Sarah looked at  
him, and found that she had placed every last bit of trust into this King she had once taken  
to be her enemy. If he chose now to seek revenge, then she would be utterly helpless....  
  
"I'll teach you. Spread your wings, Sarah, and fly away."   
  
Moments later several actors rushed down the hall, stopping at the blood,  
shattered glass, and the articles of furniture which had been forced into the passage. They  
remained there, their jaws slack and eyes wide at the sight.   
  
"Look!" James cried from his position at the window.  
  
All rushed beside the man, peering out into the night. A dark figure laid, twisted in  
the bushes near the wall of the manor. None wanted to guess at who had fallen, for  
already they feared what had occurred, and who would be to blame.   
  
Then, in the near distance, a shape which broke the dark uniformity of the night  
sky, caught the group's attention. In unison they averted their gaze from the scene of  
death, towards the heavens. It was at that moment when two brilliantly white owls,  
soared upwards, riding a wave of air currents, as they soared majestically onwards,  
through the darkness.  



	32. Brother Against Brother

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Brother Against Brother  
  
The scenery below passed with blurring speed, and became blocked occasionally  
by whispy gray clouds. Through eyes that had changed, just slightly, and were now  
surrounded by snowy white down, she saw the land, and the sky, and the Underground...  
spread out so far in all directions.  
  
And to her side Jareth soared, the beat of his wing hitching only slightly from the  
injury that had been received. Even in this different form she could feel his power, his raw  
magic all around, drifting in the air near them.   
  
Suddenly the castle spires, as if emerging from the darkest seas, protruded into the  
night sky. Jareth swooped lower, heading towards his home, so that his wounds could be  
dressed and he could at last rest. Sarah herself wanted only to forget her previous life, and  
bask in the fantasy of the Underground.  
  
Ever downwards they drifted, towards a window which burned with orange  
illumination. Jareth dove into, his wings unfurling with magical luminess and splendor.   
His owl form taking on the shape of what was real, his human appearance. Sarah lighted  
beside him, and instantly found herself changed once more, as dramatically as it had been  
when she had first turned into the owl.  
  
He struggled backwards, colliding with the wall, and gripped his wounded  
shoulder in one paled hand. A horrid grimace of agony spread upon his noble face, as  
Jareth allowed the flare of pain to pass. Sarah rushed to his side, helping him to move  
towards the bed within the chambers, so that he might rest.  
  
"Ah, the mighty king falters, it is always a sad day when such a thing occurs," a  
sinister voice stated from within the faintly lit chambers.  
  
Jareth's entire body tightened at the sound, and cold chills rushed up and down his  
spine. He swept his gaze about the room, and found himself staring at the one man he had  
wished he would never see again. The cold, nearly white eyes drilled into Jareth's, as he  
met the gaze of this Fae King.  
  
"Nicholas, your presence is not welcome here!" Jareth stated, forcing Sarah to  
leave him be as he strode towards the menacing Lord.  
  
Nicholas cocked his head, his raven mane sweeping around his face in the process.   
He clasped his hands together for a moment, as his expression was overcome with  
confusion. Then, placing a single finger to the side of his lips, he caught Jareth once more  
with his icy gaze.  
  
"Not welcome, Goblin King? I believe, that I am the one to make those decisions,  
and I am welcome everywhere. It is this guest of yours who is not meant to be here.   
Need we make the same mistake as the last time?" Nicholas threatened, as he, ever so  
slowly, removed one glove and the other.  
  
Jareth chuckled under his breath, his sapphire gaze flashing with anger, despite the  
obvious suffering he was taking. He was weakened, but would not admit it. Sarah lunged  
forwards, upon hearing this stranger address her presence with Jareth, ready to fight for  
her right to remain by the Goblin King's side.  
  
Nicholas scarcely moved. However, in an instant Sarah found herself forced  
backwards, upon the downy bed. Her arms were secured at her wrists with tightly coiled  
wire, and her legs bound together at her ankles. She squirmed, trying to yell or at least  
voice her complaints, but found that her voice had been taken, and she was able to make  
not a single sound.  
  
"Haven't you taught them to be obedient? Your lovely pet, mortals...," Nicholas  
remarked, slowly strolling beside the bed as his eyes raked across Sarah's body.  
  
"How did you know?" Jareth inquired, forcing Nicholas to bring his attention away  
from Sarah.  
  
The high King shrugged slightly, a smile gracing his thin lips as he returned to face  
Jareth. There would be time to admire this latest human when his brother had been  
properly dealt with. Nicholas glanced briefly into the darkened hallway, through the open  
door and then back towards Jareth.  
  
"I have my sources," Nicholas responded cryptically.  
  
A flash of utter black stole past the doorway, and caught Jareth's attentive eye.   
He looked towards the passage for a long time, and then, with a sigh, shook his head. He  
had been set up from the beginning.... It had been but a matter of time.   
  
"My most trusted advisor... I knew, almost, that he was not as he claimed to be,"  
Jareth responded briefly, dwelling on the feelings of horror he had experienced around  
Flagg.  
  
Nicholas laughed, and then slowly walked closer to his brother. Time was  
becoming short. He reached out one hand and placed it upon Jareth bloodied wound,  
sensing the pain that emanated forth from it. There was no way the Goblin King could  
fight, which would make the punishment that much more easy.  
  
"The guards are now breaking through your weak defenses, and soon I will take  
you prisoner, brother, for committing high treason.... punishable by death!" Nicholas's icy  
eyes flashed with evil malice.  
  
Sarah violent wrenching to break free ceased at the word "death." Jareth remained  
poised still, his expression upon his face seemingly unchanged. However, she knew that  
within, the Goblin King was a turmoil of feelings. She tore at the wire, flailing like a wild  
animal, trapped for the first time. Her wrists and ankles ripped, bleeding on the oversized  
bed, but she ignored the pain and the raw flesh exposed to the elements.  
  
Jareth turned from his brother, and fixed Sarah's wild gaze with his own, bidding  
her to be still. There was nothing he could do, and she would only injure herself further  
should she continue to struggle. He walked to the window and peered out, noting, for the  
first time, the torches which shone all around his castle, the clashing noise, the hordes  
marching inside as the defense was broken.  
  
"It won't be long now," Nicholas remarked as he walked up beside his brother,  
"So sad, Jareth, how you just cannot seem to win."  
  
Nicholas' words ended in laughter, and it drove like a pick into Jareth's skull. The  
mask of indifference that the Goblin King wore, broke, and shattered beyond recognition.   
He ground his teeth, and set his jaw, his hands balling into tightened fists.   
  
With the speed of lightning, Jareth caught his brother, and brought the man to  
dangle out of the high window. Nicholas's cocky expression faded to sheer terror, as he  
clawed at Jareth's arms, finding himself completely at his brother's grace. His eyes  
opened wide, and the look of the young boy reappeared as life seemed to be so nearly  
over.  
  
Sarah watched, horrified, her squirming finally done. She could not say a thing,  
but knew, in her heart, that Jareth would be unable to kill his brother. She swallowed, and  
then glanced towards the large, standing clock, which showed the passage of seconds,  
while Nicholas' guards marched towards them.  
  
"I should kill you, Nicholas, just to put you out of your misery! To be rid of that  
cold heart! Do you know how easy it would be, for me to lose my grip and allow that  
forsaken body to plummet to the ground. You would die, my brother, for at my hands,  
that immortality is nonexistent!" Jareth shook his brother briefly as he spoke, his voice low  
and menacing.  
  
The magical incantation that had dropped upon Sarah fell away, as Nicholas forgot  
about it. She cleared her throat, touching it briefly to be sure that everything was still in  
tact. Then, determined that there would be no more bloodshed that day, Sarah forced  
herself to call to Jareth.  
  
"Please, Jareth, don't," she begged, rapping a bit on the wooden bedposts to draw  
his attention towards her.  
  
Jareth turned, the greater half of his brother still dangling from the window, while  
Nicholas' legs flailed about within the castle. The Goblin King looked at her, his emotions  
devoid from his face, but he looked so horribly tired, exhausted from everything, done  
with life in general.  
  
"Nicholas, I will spare your pathetic life, but if you ever attempt to find me again, I  
swear by my life's blood, that you will forever rue the day! There will be no place for you  
to hide, no solace in the night, for at every turn I can be there, and I will not save you  
another time," Jareth conceded, and then removed his hands from his brother.  
  
Nicholas squirmed inside, and slinked into the farthest corner, appearing as close  
to the cretin that was hidden within his ageless fae body, as was possible. His pale eyes  
darted from Jareth to Sarah, and then back again, fearing for his life still.  
  
"You will be caught by my guards," Nicholas threatened, his voice coming out as a  
scant squeak.  
  
Jareth ignored the half-hearted attempts at frightening him, and instead walked to  
Sarah's side. She managed a slight smile, trying to boost his shattered spirits, but found  
herself unable to do anything of the such. Instead he reached over and touched her pained  
wrists, the wires fading to nothing but a spray of shattered gems, which rained upon the  
bed, as her ankles were freed along with them.  
  
"We haven't got much time, Sarah," Jareth remarked, throwing a dangerous look  
towards his brother, whom still cowered in the darkened corner.  
  
Sarah nodded in agreement, and, rubbing her now healed wrists, rose to her feet.   
She could easily hear the sound of hundreds of feet, pounding down the hallways, on the  
way to capture the Goblin King. God only knew what would become of Jareth should he  
be captured, Sarah only understood that the death would be excruciatingly painful, and  
horridly drawn out.  
  
They raced from the room without another look back towards Nicholas, Jareth  
grabbing Sarah's hand in his own. Entering the hallway, they at last realized their lack of  
time, when the glimmering orange hues from the countless torches danced about around  
the corner. Hundreds of voiced, and clashing of armor resounded, and the fleeing two  
rushed the other way.  
  
They skidded to a halt once more, the escape route already blocked by another  
individual which Jareth knew all too well. He stepped forward, anger glinting in the deep  
recesses of his eyes, and faced his adversary.  
  
"How long, how long have you played one against the other, Flagg? Since we  
were boys, no doubt? Was it you who convinced Nicholas to tell our father about my sin,  
and you who told him what happened between me and the mortal realm? And you who  
brought my brother here today," Jareth ended, stopping only a scant foot away from the  
dark mystic.  
  
Flagg did not utter a word, but kept his head slightly bowed, and his hood draped  
over so that nothing of his face could be seen. Yet, it seemed as if, from all around, the  
sound of his sinister laughter rang along the walls, through the chambers, and to the  
Goblin King's ears.   
  
At last Flagg raised his head, and fixed Jareth with the look of utter death. From  
within the darkness that was cast by the heavy hood, burned two embers of red, where  
eyes should have been. They danced with fire of Hell, and with insanity, plagues, death!  
  
"Jareth, you know not what you deal with," Flagg did not speak, but his voice  
surrounded them much the same as the laughter had done, moments earlier.  
  
Sarah cringed at the sound, sensing something so very familiar in it that it nearly  
drove her mad. She tugged at the Goblin King's arm, bidding him to leave, to run away  
from this horrible thing that resided in the guise of a man, which it most certainly was not.  
  
"Leave my sight, demon!" Jareth demanded, his power radiating off of him in beats  
of energy.  
  
Flagg laughed again, in response, but stepped back. He had no real reason to  
engage in a fight, at least not at that time. Chaos had been roused already, brother had  
been pitted against brother, and a son had been murdered by the hands of his father. It  
seemed, to Flagg, that his work was done. He bowed with mock respect before the  
magical king and then vanished completely from sight.  
  
"There!" a sudden proclamation broke the stunned silence that had encompassed  
both Jareth and Sarah.  
  
They turned in unison to see the royal guard closing in, running down the hall with  
swords drawn, and spears pointed at the two criminals. Several went into the room,  
checking the king, who had called for help, most assuredly. However, the majority rushed  
at Jareth and Sarah.  
  
"Hurry, come on!" Jareth demanded, grabbing Sarah by the hand once more to  
lead her away from the mob.  
  
They raced down the passage, the sounds of unruly guards at their heels. Jareth's  
usual fluid gait, was shattered, pain rambling through his body like a beast. He winced,  
lingering back a few seconds, as Sarah tugged at his arm, urging him onwards. The  
guards were not slowing, and soon more would appear, to, perhaps, trap them.  
  
Jareth flung open a chamber door, shoving Sarah inside, and then firmly securing it  
closed. He overturned the wardrobe, guiding it to fall in front of the door, to create a few  
extra minutes of safety from the guards. He then rushed to the balcony, throwing the  
heavy velvet curtains aside and casting open the French doors.  
  
"We're stuck, Jareth!" Sarah exclaimed, rushing beside him as she gazed, with  
terror, down at the ground, nearly three floors below them. She shivered in response to  
the height.  
  
Jareth carefully removed his torn and stained jacket, cringing at the pain from  
moving his arms. He tossed it down, allowing it to ride the wind currents as it made its  
way to the ground below. Sarah watched, her terror mounting in her stomach as the first  
battering against the fortified door began.  
  
"We are dead if we stay!" he stated ominously and then turned to look deeply into  
her chestnut eyes.  
  
Sarah swallowed, and glanced back at the door, which now appeared to sway  
inwards from the pressure of the countless guards on the other side. Then, with a sigh,  
she placed her hands firmly upon the stone railing of the balcony. She looked towards  
Jareth and then nodded.  
  
He took her hand into his, and urged her closer. Sarah allowed it, suddenly finding  
that the terrors of the battle outside of the door were disappearing into oblivion. He drew  
her to his body, wrapping his arms around her waist and gazed into her flicking eyes. An  
appearance of extreme serenity graced his features, and she delved into his wonderful  
presence.  
  
Jareth moved forward, pressing his lips to hers in a heated kiss that sealed them  
together for that moment of bliss. She locked her hands around his neck, running her  
fingers through his golden man of hair. Her mind felt at ease, and everything suddenly  
became right, as his kisses deepened, passion intermingling with intense need.  
  
She only vaguely heard the sound of the wood splinter, as an ax burst through the  
door. Voices cheered themselves onwards, as they surmounted the obstacle and forced  
their way into the chambers. The many clambered over the wardrobe, several batting at it,  
chopping the lovely piece into splinters.  
  
"Brother, the time has come to give yourself to me!" Nicholas proclaimed as he  
casually stepped over the ruins of the door and the wardrobe.  
  
He paused as blank faces turned towards him. All seemed stunned, and they  
lowered their drawn weapons, shaking their heads in disbelief. There was no way to get  
out of the room, besides the balcony, and it was impossible to scale the wall of the castle  
without plummeting to the ground. Jareth was immortal, but the female certainly was not.  
  
"Where are they?" Nicholas growled as he rushed in and peered over the side of  
the balcony.  
  
Far below, lit by the dancing illumination of many torches, he saw the tattered  
remains of Jareth's jacket. The Goblin King, however, was nowhere to be seen. Nicholas  
yelled in frustration, and slammed his fists upon the rail. He turned abruptly and stormed  
back inside, looking from one guard to another.  
  
"We had no...," one began.  
  
Nicholas flew at the one who had decided to speak. His rage erupted into  
horrifying clarity, and the guard shrunk away, trembling uncontrollable. Then,  
straightening his attire, the young King walked away, mumbling something to himself as  
he left the stunned guards to ponder....   
  
How had they gotten out???  
  
  



	33. Where the Future Lays

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Where the Future Lays  
  
In the midst of ancient trees, and bathing white light, offered by the crystal moon  
overhead, two breathless survivors struggled into the clearing. One, her hair matted about  
her sweaty face, and her body exhausted; the other was in immense pain, and caked blood  
stained his garments. They collapsed beside each other on the forest floor, near to a small  
brook, babbling in the night.  
  
Sarah looked at Jareth, at the crimson stains and sighed deeply. There was little  
she could do to help. She tore a scrap of material from her dress, the costume which she  
had worn for the play rehearsal. It was hard to remember that far back, to think of what  
had occurred before... even though only a few hours had passed.  
  
She dipped the fabric into the cool, refreshing water and then turned to Jareth, her  
face solemn with intent. He obediently removed the once creamy-colored poet's shirt,  
wincing in pain. He was not healing as quickly as he generally did, which led Jareth to  
believe that the injuries had been worse than originally thought.  
  
Sarah scooted in closer, and dabbed at the wounds. They went so very deep,  
piercing nearly through his entire shoulder, and another against the side of his abdomen.   
Numerous lacerations ran down the length of his chest. Still, his hands were the worst,  
and Sarah carefully turned each over, so she could look at the damage inflicted upon his  
palms.  
  
It appeared almost like a stigmata. The wounds drilled through the entire  
thickness of his hand, and still oozed a small amount of crimson blood. She dabbed it,  
noting Jareth biting back yelps of agony as the water trickled into his injuries. She  
wrapped the cleaned hand with the fabric. Sarah then tore another length of her dress,  
wetted it, and bandaged his other hand in the same fashion.  
  
Jareth tenderly reached out, tapping her chin, so that she turned her face upwards,  
and looked at him. Sarah was so lovely, especially in the moonlight, her hair allowed to  
run free, and her soul finally open again, devoid of the dark carcass that had threatened to  
overcome it. This was the woman he had loved for so long in silence.  
  
"You cannot remain here," Jareth finally stated.  
  
Sarah was taken aback. She gasped, shaking her head in firm denial. She could  
never return to the mortal realm, not after realizing all she needed with Jareth, not after  
everything that had happened, all she had lost... There was no way she could live! She  
almost voiced her argument before his finger pressed against her full, pink lips.  
  
"You know already, Sarah, in your heart, where your future lies," Jareth defended  
himself, still forbidding her to argue with anything that he said.  
  
She shook her head, warm tears welling in her deep chestnut eyes. Her future was  
with Jareth, as it always had been. Even when she had tried to leave, had attempted to  
start anew, his life had intermingled with her own in a hopeless knot. She could not be  
free of him, and so could not leave him again.  
  
He drew her close to him, wrapping his arms around her hitching body. She  
sobbed against his shoulder, her tears raining down upon his wound. Jareth ignored the  
pain, and soothed her tenderly, running his hands across her back with the gentleness of....  
  
Sarah sniffed briefly and drew her head up, so as to look at him. She found her  
love welling, overflowing, much the same as the tears. She kissed his cheek, tracing her  
finger along his aquiline features. Jareth held her closer, his hands becoming more rough,  
as need overwhelmed them both.  
  
They seemed to forget the impending doom, which as they rested, moved from the  
castle, out to find the two whom had escaped. Although, in the depths of the ancient  
forest, it would take longer than a single dark night to find Sarah or Jareth. This offered  
them time, which seemed so very scarce as of late.  
  
"With you, Jareth, always with you," she whispered as his lips traced a burning  
path down her neck.  
  
With a single deft touch of his tongue against the hallow of her throat, Sarah's  
entire being erupted into an electrical charge, and he had yet to lay those sculpted lips  
against her own. With delicate, baby soft hands he took Sarah's face and gently lifted her  
chin upwards, as if inspecting the length and contour of her neck. Then, he bent in and at  
once she fell utterly in love.   
  
Emotions she still had yet to experience exploded from all corners of her soul... her  
mind and entire psyche, realms beyond comprehension of realistic and accepted science.   
She literally burst with pleasure, that broke apart boundaries set by life, and time and  
countless miles delved through reality to reach this fantasy world. His sweet lips, were so  
warm and intoxicating, and Sarah could only wish that she could remain forever.  
  
His tongue separated her full lips, now searching to deepen the kiss with every  
passing heartbeat. And Sarah could feel his breaths against her own, intermingling their  
air between their bodies, channeling together the young woman (innocence at last broken  
beyond any form of repair or comprehension) from the mortal realm, and a denounced  
King.  
  
Hunger invaded every sense, taste, touch, sight, sound...scent. Jareth's scent of  
light magic and musky afterglow of perspiration, shed during the coarse of the battle and  
escape, nearly drove her mad. Her shivers erupted into gooseflesh, which the probing  
kisses did nothing to contain.  
  
Jareth broke their kiss and brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing her soft palm,  
lightly touching the sensitive skin with his tongue. Sarah rolled her head back, hating this  
constant teasing, and begging for him to continue, to stop toying with these feelings.  
  
He ran his warm hands around her ribcage, to rest along her spine, and graciously  
unzipped the dress. It slipped seductively lower, bearing her body before Jareth's wild  
gaze. She guided the heavy garment completely off, then sat before him once more,  
wearing now only her underclothes.   
  
A flashback, which lasted but a few seconds struck Jareth at the sight which laid  
before him. A young woman, breathtakingly beautiful, sitting before a small brook, with  
white cloth gracing her lovely figure. Sarah looked so very much like Emelia, as if the  
two could have easily been twins.   
  
He shook the images from his mind and then slipped forward once more. Her  
body pressed against his, driving primal needs of passion into his every thought, dispelling  
any lingering memories of Emelia. It was best that way, to leave the past where it should  
have been originally.  
  
So Jareth laid her back, and kissed her lovely face, his hands decloaking her  
entirely. With what felt like only a few fleeting moments, the constriction of fabric was  
devoid from both of their bodies, and needs of the flesh prevailed.  
  
Out in the distance, nearer than one would have imagined, came sounds of others  
stamping through the thick woods. Their torches lit the night around them in an eerie  
orange illumination. Seated upon a majestic roan, Nicholas led the search, his pale blue  
eyes scanning the forest for signs of his brother and the mortal woman.  
  
That night, there would be revenge!  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Sarah slipped into an exhausted sleep, cradled by Jareth's arms. In her slumber,  
though it was restful, she found herself placed in a dream, the first in quite some time. She  
stood in Fontridge once again, though there was no terror associated with the Manor any  
longer. Instead she felt at home in the massive confines of the mansion, as she looked  
upon lovely tapestries and equally stunning portraits.  
  
Then, as if sneaking in on the slight breeze, which caught Sarah's mane of brunette  
hair, came the softest laughter. It was something Sarah had not heard in so long, that it  
very nearly shocked her. She rushed to the open window, perhaps believing that the  
sound had come from outside.  
  
She scanned the grounds, noting nothing out of the ordinary. She very well would  
have turned then, had she not been driven to gaze further away.... nearly out of her sight.   
She craned her head out of the window, and looked down towards the stable, the stable  
which housed but one horse.  
  
The lovely steed was out, perhaps for the first time in its long life, and by its side  
was none other than Emelia. She patted the horse's noble head and then laughed once  
more. The soft blue dress she had worn the first time Sarah had seen her, was now  
exchanged for one in the purest of whites.  
  
Emelia turned her joyful gaze towards the window, and Sarah. She raised one  
delicate hand and waved, just slightly. In the other hand was a beautiful white rose, which  
Emelia had, seemingly, plucked from the stallions' flowing raven mane.  
  
"Thank you," Emelia whispered, though her voice did not come entirely from her,  
but instead from all around Sarah.  
  
Sarah smiled, and then waved back at Emelia, a broad grin upon both girls' faces.   
Emelia had come to say good-bye. She was now able to leave, to go "home" and break  
the bonds which tied her to the body of that spirit horse. Still, it made no sense for Emelia  
to be with the black stallion, who most assuredly was no ghost.   
  
As if cued the lovely, ebony steed broke from Emelia's side and raced around the  
yard, pausing at the peak of one slightly raised hill of the grounds. He reared, flipping  
back his flowing mane in that moment of regal and stunning stature. He was utterly  
breathtaking, a wild thing that had been forced to remain captive for far too long.  
  
Then the dream began to break apart, leaving only the horse to trot around in  
darkness, his elongated strides spanning nothing in several quick pumps of his muscular  
legs. Sarah felt detached, as if she had left this world, but still watched the steed as he  
enjoyed the freedom.  
  
However, without warning, the horse also faded away, blending into the blackness  
which had already completely surrounding him. Sarah found nothing staring back at her,  
only dark. Her mind instantly was overcome with panic, having become trapped in the  
horrifying bleak surroundings.  
  
With a start she snapped open her eyes, and sat bolt upright, startling Jareth at her  
side. He instantly rose with her, prepared to run as he, perhaps, feared the approach of his  
brother and the royal guards. Yet, the forest was still and quiet in the twilight, with only  
the lonely hoot of some faraway owl. Jareth turned to look at Sarah, and placed a chilled  
hand on her shivering arms.  
  
"It's freezing," she whispered, trying to force the fear that had just subsided within  
her, completely away.  
  
Jareth did not dare to mention what had just occurred, for he already knew that  
she had dreamed. Her dreams would constantly scare her, and that could have very well  
been his fault. He had invaded her subconscious to return Sarah to what she had always  
been... but now it seemed that she had suffered from his offensive techniques.  
  
"It is just as well that we continue on," Jareth remarked lightly and then slowly  
rose to his feet.  
  
His wounds had improved dramatically overnight, during the few hours that they  
had rested. Still, they stood out in horrible shades of red, which forced Sarah to worry  
about a possible infection. Jareth was immortal, but it seemed that since he was harmed at  
the hands of his son, that power had been depleted quite a bit.  
  
He produced a single crystal, and stood as the light bathed him completely. In a  
scant second he was entirely clothed, in garments which were not stained nor torn in the  
least. Sarah herself found that she was dressed as well, and done so more realistically than  
the costume she had been forced to wear throughout their flee from the castle and the  
guards.  
  
"Come, dear Sarah," Jareth whispered, and reached out to take her hand into his  
own.  
  
She did as he asked, and moved in to kiss his lips tenderly. Her heart brimmed  
with love, an emotion she had believed to be completely gone from her body, something  
she could have not felt anymore, had it not been for this magical man. Jareth merely  
smiled in response, but there was something hidden behind his carefully created mask of  
indifference, some feeling which shone in the deepest areas of his mismatched and intense  
eyes.  
  
The moment was broken quite suddenly, without warning of any kind. All around  
the two, from every side, came sounds of approaching danger. Voices called in, laughter  
followed, and through it all came the tell-tale sound of one Fae King, nearly screaming at  
his brother.  
  
"Jareth, you cannot escape me, give up!" Nicholas demanded, his laughter  
encasing his words in haughty overtones.  
  
Jareth backed away, still clutching Sarah's hand so very tightly. Her widened, and  
terrified eyes scanned their possible routes of escape, but found no hope. They were  
completely surrounded. Their decision to stop for rest, and remain so long, had been their  
downfall. Now, the consequences would be dealt out.  
  
"No argument, Sarah, you must leave me!" Jareth demanded, backing them into  
the center of the ever shrinking ring of unseen guards, surrounding them from all sides.  
  
Sarah stopped moving with the Goblin King, and ripped her hand away from him.   
He also halted, fixing her with his eyes that burned deeply, telling her that there was to be  
no discussion over the matter. She would leave, and he would remain, to face this mob,  
and quite possibly his death as well.  
  
"Jareth," Sarah whispered, and moved in closer, her chocolate eyes pooling with  
salty tears.  
  
He sighed deeply and then, with a slight flourish of magic, produced a single,  
perfect orb, which he held up at eye level, so that both could gaze into its misty body.   
Sarah averted her eyes towards her lover, her would-be enemy of old, and then shook her  
head ever so slowly.  
  
He dared another single step, and then ceased his advancement. The crack of a  
twig, only a few feet behind, signaled the attack. He rushed towards her, gathering her  
weakened body into his powerful embrace, and kissed her lips breathlessly. She felt the  
spherical crystal against her cheek, and tried desperately to brush it away, so as to remain  
by his side through it all.  
  
"Do not fear that we will never meet again, Sarah. You will know if I survive.   
Now take heed!" he warned, gripping her so tightly as she sobbed against him, having  
gone limp in his arms.  
  
He pushed her away, just as the armed guards rushed from their foliage defense.   
The crystal was thrown from his hand, and erupted about Sarah, bathing her in the magical  
spell, before the incoming mercenaries could take her captive. She saw no more, as the  
incantation fell over her eyes, turning everything dark.  
  
She sobbed, near hysterics, with the final image of those hundreds of men, with  
weapons, rushing towards Jareth, emblazoned in her mind. It was not until her sense of  
touch began to return, that she slowed her flow of tears, and allowed several hitched  
breaths to break through her emotions.  
  
It felt wet, damp really... and some texture that was so shockingly familiar. Sarah  
moved her hands, allowing the material to thread through her fingers, and tickle her  
sensitive palms.   
  
"Grass," her mind whispered, recalling the sensation she had experienced the night  
prior, basking in the dew-covered grass with Jareth at her side.  
  
Another tear graced her silken cheek at the thought of the Goblin King, and the  
fate he would face. Death would lay in the near future.... all because of her. Sarah sobbed  
slightly, but reminded herself about what he had said... about the promise he had made.  
Perhaps, there had been a slight chance of his escape.... perhaps.  
  
She slowly allowed her red, irritated eyes to open, squinting at the onslaught of  
sunshine that beat upon her. She turned her face against the grass, taking in the scent of  
damp soil, and everything else that was associated with nature. She managed a slight  
smile, and then lifted her face towards the blue sky overhead.  
  
The day had never been more beautiful, nor the sky more blue. It seemed almost  
as if the world was rejoicing for one reason or another. It was like a new start at life, a  
chance at a new beginning, one that was not doomed to be overshadowed by a hidden  
past.  
  
"I'll wait, Jareth," Sarah whispered as she gazed into the sky and allowed her smile  
to broaden considerably.  
  
Then another scent invaded her senses, one that clashed against this lovely day  
completely. Sarah rose a bit more, so that she was sitting, and looked off into the  
distance. The woods were in the distance, but nearer were the wrought iron gates that  
Sarah had seen when first entering Fontridge Manor. That would mean, that the grass she  
now sat upon, was the grounds for the mansion.  
  
She swiveled around and gasped. The entire place, the lovely grand old house was  
awash in flames, licking across its entire expanse. The lovely ornate doors, which were so  
very massive, had fallen in, and Sarah could almost see inside, to the large greeting room.   
Thick, billowing smoke erupted into the blue sky, and rained ashes down all around, some  
drifting near to where Sarah now sat.  
  
"Sarah!!" came the frantic voice from somewhere nearby.  
  
She did not remove her eyes from the scene of destruction. It hurt her, somewhere  
deep inside, to see the ancient Manor devoured by the hungry flames. However, she knew  
that it had to happen. Too many tears had been shed in Fontridge, and so many countless  
secrets were still hidden in its ever faithful twists and turns.   
  
Suddenly arms wrapped around Sarah, and she found herself completely bowled  
over. A weight fell against her side, and mirthful laughter covered all else. At last Sarah  
looked to see who had called her, and her face lit up in unexpected joy. She returned the  
elated embrace and then added her own giggles.  
  
"Gabrielle! Where, I thought....," Sarah could not finish, but instead hugged her  
friend once more.  
  
Gabrielle turned to look at the mansion, and sighed deeply. The redhead, of  
course, did not know the truth behind the fire. Sarah doubted if Gabrielle even recalled  
being taken by Jareth... The thought struck suddenly in Sarah's mind, and she was led to  
wonder if this was Jareth's sign. However, she doubted it.  
  
"Gabby, Sarah?" two disoriented voices called.   
  
Soon two others had joined the friends. Sarah recognized them as the other  
missing actresses. They were in tears and Gabrielle hugged them both, trying to soothe  
them in their emotional distress. Sarah herself, broke away from the three, and rose to her  
feet, still in awe over the immense fire and the flames which seemed so very much alive.  
  
During it all, she could almost hear a musical laughter, coming from the house, and  
Sarah listened. Before her eyes she saw the faintest silver luminess of a young girl, taking  
hold of a boy's hands and leading him into the woods, as they danced and laughed  
playfully.   
  
"It ends, as it began," Sarah whispered to herself and then returned to see  
Gabrielle.  
  
  



	34. Nevermore

Chapter Thirty: Nevermore  
  
Sarah walked the grounds of the mansion, the springtime breeze drifting through  
freshly bloomed flowers and sending sweet perfume into the air. She had dressed casually,  
in slacks and a sweater, and wore her long chestnut locks in a ponytail. After all, she had  
not thought before coming out here.  
  
The fire had been doused by the fire patrol, but had been done so too late to save  
any bit of the grand mansion. Fontridge was beyond repair, and the entire event had been  
chalked up to old wiring. Only Sarah knew the truth, and was not about to incriminate  
herself with the story which no one else, even Gabrielle, would believe.  
  
Gabrielle herself thought that they had all rushed out when the fire had begun to  
consume the building. Her lack of memory was, of course, a cause of the smoke and the  
trauma of the fall she must had taken upon running away. Jareth never entered her mind  
once, which was just as well.  
  
Sarah casually, kicked at some stray piece of wood, which had been scattered  
when an entire portion of the mansion had exploded. It had been a miracle that the fire  
had not spread to the old woods. On the other hand, the flames had been meant for but  
one thing, Fontridge.  
  
"Well, what now?" Sarah asked herself as she continued to stroll along the  
grounds of the mansion.  
  
It was quite amusing. Everything was still so perfectly kept, while Fontridge was  
no more. Even the hedges, the perfect iron fence, and the gate that had not squeaked  
once in its entire existence, were still picturesque.... Of course, the fire had occurred but  
the day before, giving not enough time for disuse, rust, and dust to set in.  
  
Sarah paused momentarily as she noticed the large stable. It also had been spared  
from the consuming fire. She looked at it for quite some time, and then her dream flashed  
briefly into her memories. The majestic black stallion.... could it be that the horse had  
been left without any others knowing him to be there?  
  
Sarah broke her stationary stance and ran onwards, stopping only briefly to pull  
open the doors, which immediately led into the immaculate aisle of the stable. She paused  
again, gasping for breath and looked down, as far as she could in the darkness. Still, she  
was unable to tell if the stallion remained behind.  
  
"Hello?" Sarah asked, tapping nervously on the wood with her fingertips. Her  
only answer was the echo of her own voice.  
  
She stepped a single foot into the barn, and then the other, fearing that the doors  
would, perhaps, shut on her once she was entirely inside. Sarah reached over with one  
groping hand, running her palm along the smooth wall.  
  
Her finger caught on the plastic switch, and she instantly turned it on. The stable  
erupted into a wash of golden light. Suddenly it did not seem as terrible as it had been  
before. Sarah easily left the safety of her escape route and walked diligently towards the  
far stall.  
  
A brief series of nickers instantly informed her that she had been correct. The  
horse had been left, perhaps to starve if no one had returned to check on him. Sarah  
hurried herself along, and then grasped the iron bars, which lined the upper half of the stall  
door, the lower half was lightly polished wood.  
  
"How could they leave you here?" Sarah asked, snaking a hand between the bars  
before she had a moment to think about what she had done.  
  
The stallion playfully lipped at her hand, and she laughed, stroking his velveteen  
muzzle. This was not the unpredictable beast that Peter had made it out to be. Sarah ran  
her hand down his face, and along his cheek, adoring the fine silken texture of his short  
coat. He shone with a lovely luster, even in the small amount of sunlight that he had  
received.  
  
"He was my Father's," Peter's voice from the past haunted Sarah's thoughts.  
  
Still, the memory forced her into realization, about why this horse was so entirely  
special. If the stallion had once belonged to Peter's father, then that would mean....   
Jareth was the rightful owner of the magnificent steed. Sarah removed her hand and drew  
it back to herself.  
  
She turned from the horse, searching the stable for something resembling a halter  
and leadrope. She doubted very much that Peter had ridden the horse recently. The poor  
thing was ancient, although it still appeared to be in the prime of his life.  
  
Her gaze fell upon a leather halter, which had been adorned with a silver decor,  
that all shone flawlessly. Even the tack which had sat around, had been properly cleaned.   
Sarah sighed as she retrieved the halter and the leather leadrope, which was attached by  
way of a golden stud chain.   
  
"I can trust you, can't I?" Sarah asked gently as she pulled at the latch.  
  
The horse bowed his noble head, as if telling her all he could without uttering a  
single word. She nodded, and then strained against the door, nearly toppling over when it  
all came flying open on her. She steadied herself, and whispered calming words to the  
stallion, who had received quite a fright from her quick and jerking movements.  
  
"Come here boy," she stated, her voice even and her approach ever so slow.  
  
The horse once more lowered his head, and relaxed his taught muscles. He trusted  
her, which aided quite a bit in the problem she now faced, finding a way to fasten the  
halter around his head. She had not ever considered herself an avid equestrian, but there  
was no way she would dare leave this lovely horse behind.  
  
Without much trouble she fastened the halter and then stepped away, gripping the  
leather lead firmly in her hands. The stallion raised his head, his deep eyes, so full of trust,  
fixed upon her, as he waited to be led from this prison which had kept him for some  
unknown amount of time.  
  
He followed behind her, his nostrils flaring as he took in the new scents, the feeling  
of being outside once more after so long. Sarah paused and pushed the doors open the  
rest of the way. At once warm, golden rays of sunlight poured into the stable, and bathed  
the stallion. His coat glistened like molten obsidian, and his mane and tail were woven  
strands of the loveliest ebony.  
  
Sarah turned, adoring the sight of the stallion as he stood in the sunshine. It took  
her breath away to look at the gorgeous horse. He lifted his head, standing tall and proud,  
and then edged closer to her, so that she was able to run her hands through his flowing  
mane, and upon his muscular neck.  
  
"You certainly are Jareth's horse," she whispered and then brushed away a tear, as  
her thoughts returned to her lost love.  
  
Things would not be the same, and she constantly lived in a state of suspense.   
Jareth had not sent her a thing to tell her that he was safe. Her hope of hearing from him  
had dwindled to near nothing, but she couldn't give up.... at least not yet.  
  
Sarah reached up, sighing slightly, and unclipped the lead. There was no reason to  
keep this lovely creature locked away. He needed to be free. Still, the stallion did not  
move, even as Sarah withdrew his halter and stepped away, to look at him, outside, and in  
the most lovely spring weather!   
  
"Go on, run away!" she demanded, tossing her hands in the air to accentuate her  
words.  
  
The black stallion edged back, and rose up a bit on his hind legs. His dark eyes  
rolled, showing their whites as the movement of her arms frightened him. He then planted  
his hooves firmly in the damp grass and reared, appearing more majestic than Sarah could  
have ever imagined.  
  
With a single snort and a great pounding of heavily muscled legs, the horse tore off  
into the woods, where the fence had never been. She watched until the last flicker of  
ebony was gone from the darkness of the old forest, and then sighed deeply. It was the  
last bit of Jareth in this world, and now it too was gone.  
  
"Sarah! I thought I would find you here," Gabrielle called, slowly walked towards  
her friend, with her hands stuck firmly into her pockets.  
  
Sarah turned, and completely surprised herself by smiling. She had believed herself  
near tears, but now found that she was not as sad as originally thought. She strolled over  
to Gabby and then followed the fiery redhead back towards their cars.  
  
They both stopped a moment to look at the ruins of Fontridge. Stone pillars, and  
some vague outlines of wood were all that remained after the fire. It seemed almost like  
the old ruins in the forest's clearing, where a young Emelia had once taken refuge from  
her life and this mansion.  
  
"I thought I would start my life over here," Sarah relented as she looked at one of  
the manor for perhaps the final time.  
  
Gabby tried to say something to soothe Sarah, thinking that her friend was  
depressed about it. She moved closer and placed a caring hand atop Sarah's shoulder.   
The brunette turned, but there were no tears in her eyes, no hint of sadness in her grin.   
Instead she seemed at ease, and more happy than she had been in quite some time.  
  
"Funny, isn't it? I traveled across the world to run away, and actually faced more  
than I would have ever seen back home. All along I was trying to run away... not from  
something, but from myself," Sarah said and then turned away from the mansion, walking  
on the cobbled driveway.  
  
Gabby followed in silence for some time, until they reached their cars, and Sarah  
unlocked her door. It was only then that curiosity broke through and Gabby cleared her  
throat, to gather Sarah's attention.   
  
"Sarah, why did you come back here?" Gabby inquired as she too opened the door  
to her car.  
  
Sarah's smile remained as she looked downwards, thinking of the reason why she  
would want to ever return here, after all the pain she had suffered in Fontridge. However,  
a part of her had needed to see it one last time, so as to finally place the past where it was  
meant to always be. She turned her deep brown eyes upwards, to look directly at Gabby.  
  
"To say good-bye," Sarah replied and then allowed a soft laugh to follow her  
words.  
  
She climbed into the car, entirely ignoring Gabby's look of surprise. There was  
nothing more to explain, for that was the basic reason why she had come back. She had  
returned to bid farewell to everything she had learned at Fontridge, and all she had lost as  
well. Above all, she wanted to say goodbye to a young woman, who had helped so very  
much.  
  
Sarah started the car, smiling still at her own personal thoughts. Gabrielle had  
finally relented, and also climbed into the car, waving briefly at Sarah in the process.   
Then, they were out of sight from each other, as Sarah started down the long country  
road, towards her hotel.  
  
She occasionally looked out the window, momentarily taking her thoughtful eyes  
off of the road. Her mind drifted back to weeks ago, when she had first arrived at  
Fontridge, and the actual drive to the manor. She could recall seeing everything for the  
first time, and the thoughts of false happiness that had bombarded her in this new  
environment with new people and a new career.  
  
For now she would place her acting on the back burner. There was something else  
she wished to do, before it all left her mind, as memories tend to do after time. With Peter  
gone, Emelia's story would never be told. There was quite a book that could be written,  
based on the diary and what Sarah herself had learned from Jareth. She smiled and turned  
her eyes back on to the road.  
  
She turned the corner, and left the old road, with only the massive Fontridge  
Manor (or what was left of it) residing along the lane. She didn't once get the urge to  
look back, and would nevermore see the mansion that had so changed her life....  
  
Nevermore...  
  
  
*** P.S. Not Done Yet!!*** 


	35. Epilogue: One Warm Summer's Day

Epilogue: One Warm Summer's Day  
  
"Really though, Sarah, how did you get the idea?" the man asked as he leafed  
through the many pages of the tightly bound manuscript.  
  
She shrugged, sipping at the golden tinged wine in the crystalline goblet she held in  
one delicate hand. Her appearance had changed over the year that had passed since she  
had left Fontridge. Sarah's long brunette locks were cut short, just above her shoulder.   
Her face was more slender, and her features more refined. Everything had just altered  
slightly, but enough to make her seem so very different.  
  
The man sitting in her chair set the manuscript on the table, tapping it a few times  
with the blunt eraser end of the pencil he was currently toying with. He turned his  
emerald eyes towards her and smiled, tapping more furiously on the coverpage as he  
realized the sheer beauty of what Sarah had written.  
  
"It's amazing," he stated, and then pushed the chair away from her rich wooden  
computer desk.  
  
Sarah backed away, a smile spreading across her ruby lips. She set the glass down  
on a near by table, and then followed the man as he walked towards the front door. She  
waited anxiously, wondering if her hard work would pay off.  
  
"Well? Are they going to publish it?" Sarah asked, as the man pulled on his light  
coat.  
  
He pulled his cap on, and then flashed a truly handsome smile in Sarah's direction.   
She was flattered, but her mind focused on one thing alone, her book in print. She had  
struggled with the story for a year, and now wished to have it where everyone else could  
read about the tragic love story.  
  
"It'll be in print before you can believe it. Sarah, let me take you out! You have  
to celebrate, and not alone," he asked, those lovely emerald eyes flashing briefly as the sun  
streamed down through one of the windows.  
  
Sarah walked towards the door, her hand falling on the brass knob. It wasn't that  
she didn't like this man, but.... it all seemed very meaningless. How could she ever explain  
to anyone that there was no male on earth that could begin to compare to her fantasy  
lover, her Goblin King. Sarah opened the door and then looked at the sweet man, her  
expression telling him all he needed to know.  
  
"If you change your mind..." he began as he walked out the door.  
  
"Don't worry, I'd call you first," Sarah replied with a brief laugh as she waved  
goodbye.  
  
She promptly shut the door and leaned against the smooth wooden surface. She  
had changed so very much, but hadn't really become any different. She was still  
anti-social, still living alone, and still hopelessly in love with fairy tales.   
  
Sarah walked slowly away from the door and into her sitting room, casting a  
furtive glance outside, towards her large backyard, the white fence, and the forest which  
sat beyond it all. England had become her new home, for she had never been able to leave  
it and return to her parents.  
  
Instead Sarah had taken on a well-paying job through a local acting group. She,  
unfortunately, was not the actress, but rather helped as assistant director. In fact, during  
the short year she had worked, she had acquired quite a name for herself, hence the large,  
lovely house she had been able to afford.   
  
During that time she had written feverishly, in any spare moment that was  
available. Her typing skills were well developed, and with a constant flow of inspired  
words, and sentences and images, she could easily turn out ten to fifteen pages a day.   
However, time had been her enemy, and her work prevented any great amount of free  
hours in which to write.  
  
Sarah threw open her French doors and walked out to her backyard. She was at  
once greeted by her dogs, two large German Shepherds that jumped up on her clean jeans.   
She stroked their lustrous coat, and laughed, as their weight pushed her back against the  
outside of her house.   
  
"Okay, okay, is it time for a walk guys?" Sarah asked, her speech broken by  
laughter as she kneeled down by them and was immediately coated with dog kisses.  
  
She brushed their fur from her cornflower blue tanktop and then rose back to her  
feet. They raced around in circles, barking briefly at each other as she crossed the expanse  
of her yard and threw open the gate which led to the old woods. Both dogs stopped their  
playful antics and sprinted out, excited to be able to be free from the restriction of the  
fence.  
  
Sarah watched them running, frolicking about in the shady woods. The  
temperature was quite moderate and almost cool when she entered beneath the trees'  
shadows. This was her solace, these thick, old, and overgrown forest. It was her escape  
from everything that was wrong with the real world. Almost a little bit of magic amidst all  
else.  
  
She stepped over a root, which stuck up from the debris-ridden forest floor. The  
dogs barked somewhere off in the distance and Sarah whistled shrilly, calling them back.   
She could hear their paws padding through the underbrush as twigs snapped and dried  
leaves crunched.  
  
Another sound split through the genuine calm and silent surroundings of the  
woods. A lonely owl hooted from somewhere behind her. Sarah jumped at the sound and  
spun around, her dark eyes scanning the canopies of the trees for the bird. Yet, there was  
no sight of it, only the occasional hoot from somewhere too far for her to see.  
  
The twigs snapped again, and Sarah relented. It had been far too long already.   
Still, at every owl sighted, and when she just turned around because the feeling of being  
watched would strike without warning, Sarah believed he would be there. A year had  
passed since that morning when they had parted and she had received no sign from Jareth.   
  
The brush crackled again and she shook her head, forcing her smile to return. It  
was hopeless to wish for something that would never come. Sarah sighed and then  
turned, to continue walking with her impatient mongrels. They hated waiting.  
  
"You two don't give me a second of ....," Sarah stopped abruptly as she noted  
what had stopped in front of her.  
  
Her dogs were no where to be seen, but she could still hear their howling barks in  
the distance. However, directly before her stood another animal, ebony in shade, with  
long silken mane and tale that drifted about his body as he shook his noble head. Sarah  
placed her shaking hand to her lips and then watched, in awe, as a single white rose fell  
from the stallions mane, and landed upon the ground.  
  
*Do not fear that we will never meet again, Sarah. You will know if I survive.   
Now take heed!* The phantom voice of Jareth, as she had heard it more than twelve long  
months prior, drifted through her mind as she looked at the majestic steed.  
  
Sarah reached down, retrieving the fallen rose and cradling it in her hands. It was  
thornless, but what was odd, was that it seemed the flower had never had the sharp  
objects on its green stalk. A light glittering of shimmering dust covered her hands, and  
Sarah was shocked to see that the entire bud shone with the shattered specks.  
  
"Jareth?" Sarah asked gently and the looked at the horse as he bowed his head,  
pawing at the ground anxiously.  
  
She slowly approached the stallion, running a trembling hand along his powerful  
neck. The horse lowered himself, kneeling upon one front leg to offer Sarah an easy  
mount. She wound her hands through his mane, and slowly threw one leg over his silken  
back. In the distance Sarah could almost see her loyal friends, as they rushed to catch up  
to their mistress. However, she would be gone before they arrived.  
  
The steed rose with a swift grace, that offered not a single dangerous moment  
where Sarah believed she might fall. She clung tightly, not afraid, but wondering how she  
would ride when she had never had a day of experience. Obviously, the horse did not care  
for her lack of skill, for he took off, galloping as swift as the wind through the forest.  
  
The air blew threw her recently cropped hair, tossing it back. It stung against her  
eyes, and so she shut them, holding tightly to his mane and willing herself not to fall.   
Their speed was utterly exhilarating, but terrifying nonetheless. Her fear subsided quickly,  
and soon she opened one eye to watch the many trees, and brief glimpse of open  
countryside pass by.  
  
Then his pace slowed, and she found a gentle rocking quality had replaced the  
sprinting gait. She raised up, and looked around, finding herself perfectly balanced atop  
his smooth back. The Stallion slowed once more, ducking beneath a low hanging vine,  
which Sarah also avoided, but did so with only a great amount of work.  
  
A shock of light poured down upon her from the sun overhead. It seemed as if  
they had broken into a clearing. Sarah glanced around, and her mouth dropped open in  
utter and complete shock. The ruins, those that had once housed Emelia's diary, were  
sitting innocently in front of her. However, she had never lived anywhere near them, and  
it seemed that it had taken but a few minutes to reach them by way of the horse.  
  
He lowered himself once more, allowing Sarah to dismount with ease. Her legs  
stung briefly from tightening the muscles as she had ridden. She rubbed her calves and  
thighs as she walked towards the old walls, fallen even more to the weather since the last  
time she had seen them. Only that time the rain had pummeled down, now it was awash in  
rich golden sunlight.  
  
Sarah swallowed back her anticipation and slowly approached the ruins. Nothing  
appeared different, nor did she see Jareth. She glanced back at the horse, who had now  
taken to grazing upon the emerald grass in the clearing.   
  
"I don't understand," Sarah whispered, as she leaned against the wall that had  
hidden the diary.  
  
Strangely enough the brick had been replaced since the time she had removed it.   
Sarah fell to her knees beside the loose piece of the wall. She firmly gripped the brick, and  
slid it from its proper place. Without a thought she reached in and felt along the hole that  
was left. A smooth, round object was hidden in the far corner, and she quickly retrieved  
it, drawing it into the sunlight.  
  
The crystal shone brilliantly, and appeared entirely magical. She turned it about in  
her hand for a few moments, and then looked around once more, wondering where he  
was, if he was here at all. Surely he would have shown himself. Perhaps she had  
misunderstood, and....   
  
The crystal came alive and danced into the air. It defied gravity for a short amount  
of time, as if it had become a bubble. The magical orb sat there and then it literally  
exploded into thousands of raining pieces of shattered gems and crystals. She laughed, as  
it rained upon her, covering the ground in something that looked like glitter.  
  
"Such beauty should be a sin," the thickly accented voice purred from behind her.  
  
Sarah spun about, leaping to her feet in the process. She then paused, her eyes  
raking across the familiar man who leaned against one of the remaining walls. He wore  
simple clothes; a cream poet's shirt, leggings of tawny color, and tall black boots. His hair  
was tied back with a ribbon which matched the shade of his shirt.   
  
"Jareth?" Sarah asked, her eyes widening in his presence.   
  
He pushed himself from the wall, and Sarah realized with wonder that the mighty  
king now walked with the slightest of limps to his noble gait. She cringed at the injury,  
wondering what could have happened to inflict such permanent damage. Jareth stopped in  
front of her, and reached out to touch her cheek with a single finger.  
  
"Don't worry yourself, Sarah. It has been a long time," Jareth stated calmly as he  
removed his hand from her face.  
  
She nodded in agreement, and then scraped the toe of her sneakers through the  
glitter-like material which cloaked the ground entirely. The dust had intertwined amidst  
her hair, and made it seem like she was shimmering herself. Still, Sarah found that she  
couldn't say a thing as he looked at her, with those changeling, intense eyes.  
  
"I thought...," she began, but her voice hitched in the middle of her words.  
  
"That I had died? I'm afraid not, though if my brother had had his way I most  
assuredly would not be here before you, Sarah," Jareth whispered, completing her  
thought.  
  
Jareth urged her forward, taking her hands in his own. He ran a hand through her  
short hair, his smile wavering a bit at the changes she had undergone. She had tried so  
hard to put everything behind her, losing weight from her already perfect frame, cutting  
her brunette locks, and the change of environment.  
  
"I needed to change," she stated as her eyes flicked a bit.  
  
"You will always be perfect, Sarah. Your soul is as beautiful as ever, as are you,"  
he whispered and then pulled her to him in a tender embrace.  
  
Jareth broke the embrace apart slightly, and then kissed her lips. She wrapped her  
arms around him, the anxiety that had originally been present in her actions dissipated as  
passion was allowed to finally flow freely. His hands traced the curve of her back, beneath  
the thin cotton material of her tank top. Her shivers responded to his touch.  
  
"What shall we do now?" Sarah asked gently as she gazed lovingly into his  
mysteriously different eyes.  
  
Jareth led her towards the comfort of the soft, green grass that his steed still  
grazed upon. She sat down beside him, allowing the King to take her into his arms once  
again. He kissed her forehead, and then smiled down at her.  
  
"I'm certain, my dear, that time will tell," Jareth replied cryptically and then  
pressed his lips to hers.  
  
**Go to sleep and dream again.  
Soon your dreams will rise and then  
From all this gloom love can start anew  
And there'll be no crying soon.**  
~Queen~ 


End file.
